


Summer Fling Series

by pieckaboo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambitious But Unsure Where To Go In Life!Mikasa, Beaches, Beruyumi is a good ship freaking fite me !!, Don't Take This Too Seriously, Especially since this fic is a solid 1/4 beruyumi lol, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Friendship, Ficlet Collection, Friendship/Love, How the duck does this have 3k hits????, I Will Go Down With These Ships!, Ice Cream Lover!Annie, Lazy Goofball!Pieck, Pansexual Smokin Hot Lifeguard!Ymir, Series, Summer, Summer Love, Thats a lot more than I'd anticipated tbh, all in good fun, just let me have this one thing in this cruel world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieckaboo/pseuds/pieckaboo
Summary: Four gal pals return from an exhausting year away at college to their small hometown by the sea for summer break. While balancing their respective part-time jobs and casual social lives, each is met with the prospect of blooming romance… or are they mere summer flings?Annie works at her father's ice cream shop to thwart boredom and satisfy her insatiable sweet-tooth... but ends up catching the eye of the new lifeguard.Ymir only looks out for number one, until she meets someone who can actually keep up with her. She's just as surprised as her friends are.Mikasa enjoys working at the local beach club because it allows her to meet visitors and tourists from all sorts of places. But one stranger in particular makes a deeper, more intimate impression on her than she realizes.Pieck is everyone's favorite lazy goofball. Well, almost everyone… her co-worker at the local surf shop thinks otherwise. But damn, she's starting to grow on him…





	1. June - An Overture

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this is a new project of mine for the summer of 2017! This series will consist of chronological one-shots centered on the main characters and their love interests. Each little ficlet will be written from their point of view throughout the duration of their summer break; separated into the months of June, July, and August. It's meant to be a short series just for summer fun!
> 
> Read and Enjoy!
> 
> (Second attempt at uploading lol hopefully this works out better!)

Waves crash against the white sand embellishing the shore, and then retreat back to sea.

The temperature soars into the mid-eighties as the sun reaches the highest point in the sky.

A pair of striped beach umbrellas offer four beach-goers shade from the sweltering heat, each sipping on fresh lemonade while clad in their favorite bikinis.

Annie and Mikasa share the space under one umbrella, helping one another lather on a few layers of sunscreen. A couple of kites lay at their feet, though the opportunity for flight has yet to present itself.

Pieck and Ymir occupy an adjacent umbrella, studying their tan-lines in search of a noticeable difference in comparison to their natural complexion. Pieck yawns somewhat in discouragement when she realizes she'll never catch up to Ymir's golden tone.

The group of four have been friends since their early grade school days in the small seaside town of Stohess Beach. Shortly following high school graduation, they'd temporarily gone their separate ways to college, only to return to their hometown for summer break.

After a grueling long year of studying massive textbooks, whipping up innumerable essays, and battling the urge to fall asleep in crowded lecture halls, reuniting has never felt so good!

And now, they get to spend the next three months going on crafty little adventures, staying up as late as they want, and lounging around at the beach for casual summer fun.

The essential girl-time is a much-needed break from the demands of impending adulthood and other tedious obligations.

Still, they can't entirely shirk their responsibilities, therefore making it necessary for them to take on part-time jobs.

Annie had looked into applying at a local boutique, but had ultimately been coaxed into working at her father's ice cream shop for the seasonal break. She figures she could sneakily sample the occasional spoonful of her family's recipe if she gets really bored.

Ymir had accepted a job as a lifeguard, impressing the employed staff with her remarkable athleticism in the water. She's glad most of her summer will be spent at the beach. Time well spent, indeed.

Mikasa looks forward to start her first shift at the Stohess Beach Club. Though the job description was vague on paper, she's been told by former employees that it'll keep her busy for the high season.

Pieck's job at the surf shop is certainly fitting of her character. The setting is relaxed, laid-back, and unintentionally encourages her lazy habits. She's capable of getting the work done exceedingly well- only at a snail's pace, however. Still, the manager loves her for reasons beyond her own understanding, and she's quite popular with tourists and regulars alike, so it all works out.

Sweet, sweet summer.

Suddenly, the breeze picks up and circulates into blustery winds.

Figuring that's a good enough cue, Mikasa reaches for the kites and hands one over to Annie.

"Perfect timing," she says, finding solace in the consistency of the strong gusts. "Ready?"

Annie nods and stands to her feet, throwing a light t-shirt on before scouting out the perfect spot to fly their kites.

"Have fun, you two," Ymir chuckles, earning smirks from the blonde and raven-haired duo. She then shifts from her lazy lounging position to sitting upright, throwing her favorite pair of shades on to block out the brightness of the midday glow.

Pieck wakes herself up from a mini cat-nap, shielding her eyes from the sun. She stretches out multiple limbs before sitting up and taking a hefty gulp of her lemonade.

"Are you excited to start work tomorrow?" she yawns, smoothing over a few crinkles in her beach towel.

Ymir flips up her shades, looking over at Pieck with a contemplative expression.

With a nod she replies, "I guess. I don't expect anything too dramatic to happen on my first day... but then again tomorrow's Friday, which means lots of families and lots of little punk ass kids."

Pieck smiles, finishing off her lemonade. "Maybe I'll come visit you." To nap on the beach, more or less.

"And I'll be sure to stop by the surf shop on your first day," Ymir offers, reciprocating the gesture. She reaches behind her to adjust the umbrella, ensuring Pieck won't get a sunburn from the overexposure. Poor thing just can't tan as easily as her.

"Bring me food if you can," Pieck murmurs, drifting off into another slumber.

Not too far off in the distance, Annie and Mikasa are holding a conversation of their own, keeping their eyes locked on their respective kites high above.

"So you're telling me there was no one?" Annie asks, slightly incredulous. "Not even anyone to casually mess around with?"

Mikasa mulls over the past year; her second year away at college. Although the guy-to-girl ratio is practically 2:1 at Trost University, there simply aren't any guys she's even half-interested in dating. And, that doesn't strike her as a bad thing. She prides herself in being patient and reasonable.

Annie thinks she's just too picky.

"Nope," comes Mikasa's nonchalant response. "Not a single person."

Annie sighs. "Either your standards are just way too extreme or you're closing yourself off from others out of fear of getting attached."

Mikasa shrugs, watching as her kite ascends higher still. "Neither. I'm only waiting for the right one to come along."

Annie scoffs at that. "Well it doesn't help if you're not actively looking."

Mikasa wipes a single bead of sweat from her brow and quickly reverses the question. "What about you, Annie? Still seeing that one guy from your psych class?"

Shit. Annie shakes her head. "He wanted to take a break, whereas I decided it was time to end it for good. The relationship was going nowhere."

"That sucks," Mikasa consoles her. "But to be honest, I always thought you deserved better anyway."

"My dad tells me the same thing all the time," Annie mutters. "I could tell he never really liked Jean."

Mikasa frowns upon seeing Annie's disheartened expression. Placing a hand on the petite blonde's shoulder, she's about to say something when Ymir and Pieck suddenly approach them.

"Hey Annie," Ymir calls out, "think your dad would give us free ice cream?"

"I've been craving Rocky Road all day," Pieck adds, lost in her mouthwatering reverie.

Annie and Mikasa exchange amused looks, lowering their kites in tandem with the request.

"Probably not," Annie huffs. "But he'd definitely give us a discount."

"Sweet!" Ymir rejoices. "Let's wrap up our shit and go!"

As the tallest of the group commences a jog back to their post, Mikasa looks over at a sleepy Pieck with concern.

"Did you remember to put on sunscreen?" she asks, examining questionable red patches along Pieck's back.

"I put some on a few hours ago," Pieck replies casually, oblivious to the worried tone of her voice.

The two walk back to join an impatient Ymir, while Annie stops for a moment to look out into the sea. The waves continue to roll over one another, the waters sparkling like crystals from afar.

Her breath is taken away by the vastness of its expanse, the thought of its mere existence tremendously unfathomable.

She finds herself at ease, taking in the calm breeze, her face lightly sprayed with ocean mist, her hair blowing freely in the wind.

Annie marvels at the familiar sensations like they're bestowing a homecoming; as though she's welcomed back with open arms, answering the call of the sea.

Oh, sweet, sweet summer…


	2. June - Annie

She's devouring her fourth strawberry ice cream cone when he first walks in.

Annie is unashamed of her sweet tooth, and therefore is completely unfazed when the stranger clad in lifeguard attire strolls on inside her father's ice cream shop half an hour into her slower-than-molasses afternoon shift.

This particular customer, on the other hand, seems to find the sight before him utterly amusing, as indicated by the ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face.

He flips up his shades and walks to the front counter, where Annie assumes he'll order and then be on his merry way out. Upon closer inspection, however, she realizes she wouldn't mind if he stuck around even for just a little bit.

Sporting a thin tank top with the title 'Lifeguard' in bold print, red shorts, and aviators, he radiates an air of quiet confidence. Tone muscles from what Annie can only assume are the result of all that swimming and lifeguard training pair nicely with his warmly tanned skin. His deep brown hair is styled in such a way that exudes 'surfer dude' vibes, and his eyes glow a captivating green hue like sparkling emeralds.

Annie's never seen him before.

He must be new in town.

And if he's a lifeguard at the beach… _he knows Ymir._

The sudden realization dawns on her when he indicates that he's ready to order.

"Well," he begins, clearing his throat so as to disguise an impish chuckle, "I've always preferred mint chocolate chip, but from the looks of it, strawberry must be worth a try." His gaze bounces back and forth between Annie and the half-eaten ice cream cone behind her, making it all the more obvious he's found her snacking-on-the-job shenanigans rather entertaining.

The real cherry on top is the small stain on her apron, melted into the fabric for all to see.

Annie dismisses his quip and keeps the blank expression on her face subdued.

"Would you like to sample the strawberry one?" she asks. _Nice save._

The lifeguard cutie shakes his head, having settled on a decision the moment he saw her engaged in a passionate ice cream dalliance.

"I'll go for one scoop of strawberry in a waffle cone," he declares, adding a 'please' when he flashes another flawless smile, pairing it with honest-to-god the most adorable puppy-dog eyes.

From outward appearances, the flirtation in his voice seems to be lost on her, but when she turns her back to grab the ice cream scooper, she's internally berating herself for the slight tremble of her hands.

_What is happening?!_

With one hand holding the waffle cone, the other in mid-scoop of the ice cream, Annie looks up at him curiously when a question arises.

"So," she asks, hoping to strike up harmless conversation so the setting isn't too quiet or too awkward, "you're a… lifeguard?"

The brunet gives her a pensive look, then dons a cheeky grin, peering down his work uniform of sorts sardonically. "What gave me away?" he jests.

Annie plops the scoop of ice cream into the cone, and shrugs. Taking his joke as an alternative 'yes,' she responds with even more inquisitive prodding.

"Well it's just that I know all the lifeguards at Stohess Beach because they're here almost every summer." She pauses to hand the cone over to him before continuing. "But I've never seen _you_ before."

He meets her back at the register so she can ring up his purchase and then replies with a confident affirmation; proudly announcing, "New in town."

 _Bingo_.

"I see," Annie responds, feigning surprise.

"What about you?" he reverses the question, his interest clearly piqued.

Annie's taken aback for a moment, but indulges his curiosity nonetheless. "Born and raised here. I go to school out of state, so I'm only back in town for the summer."

He nods, understandingly so. "Local gal, huh?"

"That's right," Annie confirms, eyes meeting his. Eyes _lost_ in his.

Eyes that gorgeous shade of green should be illegal.

She secretly hits the discount button on her till, unapologetic and free of any guilt.

It's only polite to greet newcomers with such hospitality.

"What do I owe ya?" he asks, reaching into his wallet.

A clandestine smirk fades as quickly as it appears on the petite blonde's lips. "Two dollars and fifty cents."

He hands her the exact amount in cash and then quickly slides what appears to be a small slip of paper onto the counter.

There's ten digits on it, as well as a name.

Annie's about to ask what exactly _it_ is when he provides a reassuring (if not obvious) answer, though it's actually more of a proposition.

"Maybe you can show me around town sometime. You know, you being familiar with the area and all."

 _Well played_ , Annie thinks, giving him a single nod. She takes a moment to glance down at the slip of paper, reading the name aloud.

"Eren." She says his name fondly, deciding it suits him. She offers hers in return, pointing at the nametag on her shirt. "Annie."

With a parting smile, Eren slowly makes his way to exit the shop, indulging in the sweet treat with utmost appreciation.

"I'll be seeing you again soon, Annie," he responds confidently.

She watches him leave the shop and then disappear behind the corner onward to the beach.

With a deep sigh, she picks up where she left off, resuming the obliteration of her strawberry ice cream in a daze.

_And just when I thought it couldn't get any hotter…_

Annie contemplates whether she's screwed or lucky, but ultimately figures she can't complain.

The tally for the day consists of four strawberry ice cream cones… _and_ a cute guy's number.

Not a bad day at all.


	3. June - Ymir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship the hell outta Beruyumi. lol always have and always will

She's not expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen while she's on lifeguard duty.

So far, Ymir's only had to blow her whistle once at a couple of hooligans knocking over sandcastles, some kid wandered a little too far out into the water and required some help making it back to shore, and Annie stopped by to say 'hi' before starting her shift at the ice cream shop.

Not too shabby.

Ymir is initially perplexed upon hearing Annie _already_ has taken an interest in a potential new flame. She's even more bemused to find out it's the new guy on the job, Eren Jaeger.

"He seems like your type," Ymir relents, picturing them together in her head. She thinks it just might work out. Plenty of guys are smitten with Annie at first sight, but it's rare that the petite blonde actually reciprocates the gesture.

If the attraction is mutual between them, Ymir figures it's worth a shot.

After chatting for a few minutes, Annie informs the freckled lifeguard she has to go to work, but suggests they meet up later with Pieck and Mikasa for dinner at the local pizzeria, to which Ymir vehemently agrees.

With a hopeful half-smile, the blonde turns on her heel and reluctantly leaves the beach for the shop, but not before adding one last sentiment.

"Try not to scare _too_ many kids today, Ymir."

Ymir smirks at that. "I scare _everyone_ ," she clarifies. "I'm not here to babysit… And god knows this beach could use a little law and order."

She likes the authority her title rightfully endows her. She wears it openly with pride, assuming dominance over the entire beach to ensure its well-being.

The whole job is a power-trip for her. She's able to flaunt her impressive athleticism, she's given the privilege of monitoring the beach from an incredible vantage point atop the newly remodeled lifeguard post, and she _gets paid_ to spend most of her time at the beach.

It's a godsend!

Most days, save for the weekend, are uneventful. Some shifts, she spends more time working on her tan, swapping several pairs of sunglasses, or even studying each ab on her muscled midsection than actually having to 'guard someone's life.'

She's only had to perform CPR once; and of course the one time she had to put her lips on someone else's to save their life was for a chubby guy twice her age who thought swimming while intoxicated was a good idea.

At least the local newspaper had published a story featuring her heroism as the main article. And _damn_ , the picture taken for the well-written piece showcased her perfectly toned body in the most flattering angle possible.

It's been hanging up in her room ever since.

 _You did good, Ymir_ , she constantly thinks to herself. _You did good_.

It's late afternoon, only about an hour into her shift, when Pieck visits her at the beach.

Ymir acknowledges the petite girl's waves with a single nod, raising at brow when she sees that Pieck has brought company.

Three boys she has seen maybe once or twice before follow behind the raven-haired girl, carrying items for a volleyball net along with (surprise, surprise) _actual_ volleyballs.

Ymir watches as they begin commencing a heated, but friendly, game of beach volleyball, still unable to put any names to any of the guy's faces.

Balancing her attention from other beach-goers to Pieck and her buddies, she comes to learn their identities, committing them to memory as best she can.

Any friend of Pieck's is a friend of hers, she reasons.

The guy standing next to Pieck on their side of the net is Marcel. The brawny blond on the opposing side is named Reiner. Reiner's ally for the match is the tallest of the four, towering over most people in general with a height that easily surpasses six feet.

Ymir isn't sure why, but she finds herself staring at the brunet giant with feverish curiosity.

She thinks _maybe_ they had a class together back in high school; that their paths _had_ to have crossed at some point before.

She continues watching as it's his turn to serve the ball.

Giving the ball a hefty jab, he blasts it over the net, mercilessly rocketing it Pieck's way without exerting so much as half-assed effort.

He does so with finesse, muscles rippling with each stride, spike, and block.

 _Fuck_.

Ymir undergoes an internal crisis.

For as long as she can remember, she's felt as though her sexuality has been in an awkward limbo. Technically, she identifies as pansexual, but there are days where she feels flat out gay as hell.

Today, however, just isn't one of those days.

Recently, as per the cliché college 'sexual awakening' many young women experience, she's come to accept that she's pretty damn fluid, and prefers to just go with the flow.

If she finds someone attractive, regardless of gender or any other trivial matter, then she's on board!

But as of right now, she's hesitant to pursue any sort of romantic relationship, not to mention she's at work and must remain focused.

Her lifeguard senses tingle when she hears Pieck yelp amid the wild volleyball excursion.

"Aghh!" Pieck collapses into the sand, nursing an ache above her ankle.

"Oh my god!" Marcel shouts with concern. "Are you okay?"

Reiner and the friendly giant rush over to the other side of the net to assist the tiny Pieck.

"Sorry," Reiner apologizes. "Didn't mean to spike the ball like that."

"It's my fault," Marcel says, taking the blame. "I should've gotten it."

Pieck shakes her head and chuckles. "Nahh, I just kind of tripped over myself. It doesn't hurt all that bad."

While the foursome is still huddled around one another, stalling in friendly but nervous banter, Ymir climbs down from the lifeguard post to offer help.

It's her duty anyway.

With bandages in one hand, she approaches Pieck intently, heart skipping a beat when she realizes the tall hottie is watching her with relaxed eyes.

_Shit. He's cuter up close._

Ymir lowers herself to Pieck, still nestled carefully in the sand. Unwinding the bandage material, she asks for approval before moving forward. "May I?" She gestures at the possibly injured ankle in question.

Pieck nods. "Not sure if that's really necessary but I guess it couldn't hurt."

Ymir is still bandaging Pieck's ankle when she makes a suggestion. "It's barely the beginning of summer and you're already about to fuckin' twist something." She laughs a single beat. "You should take it easy for a while. Give it some rest."

Her attempt at humor (along with her well-intentioned advice) flies right over Pieck's head, as she's wearing the same calm, half-lidded, lazy expression on her face. Totally, and completely, unfazed.

With a faint smile, she shrugs, and then stands back up on her feet. "It feels better now," Pieck insists, rolling her ankle in small circles. "Thanks, Ymir."

The boys acknowledge their gratitude to the lifeguard with a round of 'thanks,' before asking if she wants to join in on their volleyball skirmishes.

She declines, informing them she's still working. "But maybe some other time," she tells them before heading back to the lifeguard post.

Twenty minutes later, she's back at it, sitting atop the post, keeping a watchful eye on the beachgoers and a few swimmers splashing about in the distance.

That's when through her peripheral vision, she sees a white, tapered ball fly in her direction. Lucky to have inherited remarkable reflexes, she catches it with such dramatic flair, like something choreographed from a movie.

The tall hottie offers to retrieve the ball, jogging towards Ymir in nonchalant fashion.

Ymir hops down from the post with the ball still in her hands, awaiting his arrival to close-enough proximity in heated anticipation.

He's glistening in a light coat of sweat. The sight tempts her, teases her, taunts her.

And it kind of pisses her off all the same.

 _Fucking fuck_.

He stops a few feet ahead of her, extending both arms out.

She tosses it back to him, earning her a tentative but well-meaning smile.

He pauses for a moment, surprising her that he's not immediately turning around to return to the others. She thinks maybe he wants to say something…?

She _hopes_ maybe he wants to say something.

Chuckling dryly, Ymir decides she doesn't need to wait for the now nervous wreck before her to speak first. _She_ is capable of speaking first, essentially making the first move.

"Do me a favor and look out for Pieck, will ya?" she demands, giving him a wry smirk. "That girl is hopeless."

The guy nods, a bit shy at first. "She's…" he begins, voice trailing off, "she's lucky to have a friend like you."

Ymir raises a brow. "Maybe our friendship is only symbiotic, and nothing more," she quips.

Her joke earns yet another small smile. "It's obvious you care enough, anyway," he says, calling her bluff.

Ymir's quick to dismiss the projection. "Sure." But he's right. She's just too stubborn to admit it.

Slowly, she takes a step back and nods at the post. "I gotta get back to work," she tells him.

At that, the giant lowers his head and nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Right," he says, suppressing a small frown. "Maybe I'll see you around then, Ymir."

_He already knows my name? What the hell. How?_

Ymir sees the opportunity anyway and fucking takes it. "Yeahhhh, Pieck is real lousy at introducing people…"

Before she can finish, the hottie frantically apologizes, his tone awkwardly defensive, but adorable nonetheless. "Sorry, Pieck mentioned she was friends with a lifeguard here and clearly, she was referring to you and that's how your name came up…"

Awkward. Awkward. Awkward.

When he's finished droning on, Ymir can't help but find his flustered state amusing to say the least. "All right," is all she can manage in between mild laughter.

Finally, fucking finally, he introduces himself, offering his own name.

"Anyway… I'm Bertolt." He sounds almost relieved.

 _Quite a name_ , Ymir thinks.

But she likes the idea of calling him 'Bert' or 'Bertie.'

Yeah… she'll definitely be calling him Bert from here on out.


	4. June - Pieck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially starting the 'Protect Pieck At All Costs' club. Any one wanna join? :(

She's limping when she walks into the surf shop, five minutes before her shift is about to start.

Pieck lives less than a mile away from the heart of town, the single boulevard where all the various gift shops, cafes, and restaurants are lined up in a centralized location right next to the beach.

 _But_ , what she had initially thought was a mere mishap from the previous day's intense volleyball skirmish with Marcel, Bertolt, and Reiner at the beach, had actually turned out to be quite the conundrum; overstaying its welcome above her ankle and heckling her with each stride.

The strain throbbing against the area in question is wrapped in new bandage material, replacing the one Ymir had given her the day before.

Pieck hopes it won't draw the attention of her co-worker as she ambles inside the small shop, decelerating her pace so as not to make it plainly obvious there's discomfort in every other step.

Carrying her sky blue ombre tote on one arm, she peeks down to ensure all her belongings are safely nestled inside its depths.

Sunglasses. Check.

Phone. Check.

Wallet. Check.

Pepper Spray. Check.

Bag of Doritos. Double Check!

She notices that her co-worker, Porco, (though she's affectionately nicknamed him 'Pock') is in the middle of a transaction with a customer, so she seizes the opportunity to sneak by without inciting any suspicion. Once she reaches the safety of the stock room, she clocks on and places her tote inside her designated locker.

Taking a quick moment to readjust the bandaging on her left ankle, Pieck lets out a tiny yawn, deciding she's as ready as she'll ever be to close with the usually irate (but deep down good-natured) Pock Galliard.

The job is hardly a demanding one, requiring the bare minimum amount of effort on the daily. Pieck isn't a serial slacker, but on the slow days when there's not a whole lot to do, she's more than willing to take cat naps on the surfboards; in both the back room _and_ the display area.

Her small frame allows for several otherwise unconventional spots throughout the shop to serve as potential napping sites. She considers herself lucky.

When Pieck positions herself behind the front counter, ready for work, she's not exactly welcomed with any sort of encouragement.

"Nice of you to finally show up," comes Pock's greeting.

"I clocked in at five on the dot," Pieck replies, a dull smile adorning her lips.

Pock glances down at his watch, realizing it's a few minutes ahead of the actual time. Rather than admit that, however, he merely scoffs and walks toward the front of the shop.

"I'm gonna rearrange the setup in the display." He leaves her alone behind the counter, sights set on altering a few boards to his liking.

For the next hour, Pock wanders about the shop, keeping himself busy with minor modifications here, a quick sweep there, and general chores everywhere. He's tending to the sales rack consisting of last season's men's swimming trunks when small crunching noises break his fortified concentration.

* _crunch crunch crunch_ *

Eyes filled with bewilderment, he peers over at the front counter and is immediately disturbed by the horrid events taking place over yonder.

* _crunch crunch crunch_ *

Munching away on Doritos of the 'cool ranch' variety, Pieck tosses yet another handful of the chips into her mouth, already finished with half of the first bag. Yes, _first_ bag, because she bought a _second_ one at the Qwik Mart. (They were having a buy one get one sale.)

She's still chewing away casually, completely oblivious to everything, when Pock whistles to get her attention.

He gives her a stern look, to which she only blinks emptily in response.

"What?" she asks dryly. She proceeds to hold the bag up, dangling it ahead of him. "Want some?"

Pock stares at her like she's a freaking alien. "No," he declines her offer with a disdainful huff, before resuming the task at hand. Rolling his eyes, he accepts that his attempts to quell her damn snacking are pointless.

Aaaaaaand of course, the eating noises continue…

* _crunch crunch crunch_ *

* * *

Later that evening, with the attendance barely reaching ten customers from the start of her shift, Pieck has finished the entire 'cool ranch' Doritos and immensely craves the second bag; _Spicy Nacho_.

Pock informs her there's less than an hour until close, and therefore begins commencing closing duties.

"I'm gonna go take the trash out," he announces, having consolidated the contents of several wastebaskets into one large _Hefty_ brand bag.

Pieck smiles meekly and nods, giving him the thumbs up. "I'll hold down the fort."

Pock shudders at that, not quite considering that a very comforting thought. _God help us_.

When he returns shortly thereafter, he scratches his head, puzzled.

Pieck isn't behind the counter like she's technically supposed to be, seemingly disappearing into thin air.

Pock wonders how in the hell the shop hasn't been robbed yet.

Looking aimlessly around the interior, he calls her by name. "Pieck?"

Her voice indicates she's in the stock room. "Over here!" she calls back.

 _What the hell_ , he thinks incredulously.

When he enters the stock room to confront her lackadaisical work ethic, he almost wishes he hadn't.

As she's done numerous times before, Pieck is lazily lounging atop a newly imported surfboard, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

"I just… needed a rest…" she drawls, as if the scenario is totally a normal one.

Pock face-palms himself, heaving a deep, disappointed sigh. He thinks he shouldn't be all that surprised.

Without even realizing it, he discreetly studies her in her laid-down position. Her jet-black hair falls against the board in relaxed fashion. Her limbs are dangling idly down the sides.

He thinks she looks… peaceful. And he briefly wonders what her hair would look like spread against a pillow.

 _What. The. Fuck_.

Where did _that_ come from?

Yeah. No. He vows to never again allow his thoughts to wander into such dangerous and unprecedented territory.

He takes a moment to collect himself from the daze, placing both hands on his hips as he prepares to dish out several orders. "Come on," he tells her. "Get up. There's still a few things we have to get done."

Pieck's half-lidded eyes widen at the demand. She thinks back to the pain above her ankle.

 _Rats_.

She'd been so good at hiding it this whole time… but if she tries to get up in front of him now, she'd ultimately be giving herself away.

It was bothering her to no end; the sole reason she had to leave the front counter after Pock left to take out the trash.

Which was surprisingly progressive given that she usually ditches the front counter out of sheer laziness rather than discomfort or pain.

Either way, Pieck intends to go down fighting- if it comes to that.

Which it does. "Okay," she says, sitting herself up. She pauses, hoping Pock will take her word for it and head back out into the shop, expecting her to follow and catch up with him.

But he doesn't. He stands there, waiting for her to get to her feet.

And that's pretty much when she gives in.

"I…" she begins dully, "it kinda hurts to walk."

Pock grunts at her confession. The look on his face suggests he's waiting for her to expand on that.

Pieck points below at her left ankle. "I was at the beach with Marcel, Reiner, and Bertolt yesterday," she explains. "We were playing volleyball and I think I might've messed up my ankle."

Pock scoffs at the mention of Reiner. _That asshole…_

"I can _stand_ ," Pieck continues, with hopes of rectification, "but I'm kind of limited in movement." Strenuous movement, that is. Or anything related to constant range of motion in the form of basic things like 'walking.'

She's useless for the time being, simply put. At least, that's the only conclusion Pock can draw out of this whole charade.

Quite the predicament, unfortunately.

Figuring a lecture would do her no good, Pock comes up with a bare-bone solution.

"I'll take care of the rest of the closing duties," he sighs indignantly. "Will you be able to count the till at least?" _Please say 'yes.'_

Pock hates cash-handling and cashing out. For reasons far beyond him, he thinks it's horrendously feminine. Don't ask him why. Don't accuse him of being sexist. He doesn't even have a clue himself.

Much to his satisfying relief, she nods in agreement. "For sure."

Finally, a silver lining.

* * *

Chores are done. The lights are turned off. The sign is flipped to 'closed.'

At last, their closing shifts are over with!

Pock waits for Pieck to limp outside the shop before locking the doors behind them.

"Goodnight, Pock," she hums, limping away on route to her house.

Like her, Pock lives within walking distance to the shop, but given that both his ankles are free of any strains and pains, he's certain Pieck's commute back home will take double what it normally does.

Watching her hobble away hits him where it hurts; his one and only weakness or soft spot.

He rolls his eyes in contempt, knowing full well he might hate himself for this later, but screw it.

In a single swift stride, he catches up to her and stops her from continuing, insisting that she ought to keep her weight off the bad ankle.

"You're only going to worsen the injury," he chastises her. And then, somewhat regretfully, he turns around, looking back at her with resolve. "Hop on."

Pieck doesn't hesitate for a second, never one to turn down a piggy-back ride in general.

"You remember where I live?" she asks, ready to dole out directions if need be.

But _of course_ he remembers. After all, they practically grew up together, attending the same school for years up until recently when they'd gone their separate ways for college.

"Yeah," he finally manages, momentarily taken aback by her light weight.

He probably lifts more than she weighs for crying out loud.

The trip to her house is mostly silent, yet calm and relaxed.

Pock is surprisingly comfortable serving as her escort, and although he won't know it until he's arrived at her front door step, Pieck is just as (if not more) comfortable as well.

Draped against his back, with her arms coiled above his shoulders, she's fallen asleep halfway there.


	5. June - Mikasa

She's working the juice bar when he seats himself on the barstool at the end of the elongated counter, established underneath a large cabana modeled after a Hawaiian Tiki lounge.

Mikasa finishes making smoothies for the couple packing on the PDA in the seats in front of her, one mango and one peach, and stealthily places them on the counter so as not to disturb their intimate moment.

"Enjoy…" she mumbles, utterly certain she's being ignored.

Now it's on to the next guest; the gentleman seated at the very end in isolation. He's reading a photography magazine, fixated on an article featuring entries of a photo contest.

Mikasa adjusts the hem of her shorts and tucks a loose stray of hair behind her ears. Today marks the completion of her first week working at the Stohess Beach Club. She likes that it keeps her busy from start to finish every shift, and that she's not always scheduled in the same place. So far, she's worked at the front desk, as a pool attendant, and now, as a food and beverage server.

The people she meets on the job vary from locals, who she's usually familiar with given the small-town setting, to tourists on vacation, some more talkative than others. The ones that do engage in conversation with her often have interesting stories to tell, mostly regarding where they're from and what they do for a living.

But as Mikasa makes her way over to the man at the edge of the juice bar, she realizes that she has trouble reading him. She's never seen him before and he's definitely not a local. Yet, he doesn't strike her as your run-of-the-mill tourist, all smiles and burnt to a crisp as the result of too much UV exposure.

She reserves further judgment as she approaches him, ready to take his order.

"Hi," she greets him amiably, and has his attention quicker than she had anticipated. "What can I get for you?"

The man looks up from his reading, a stoic expression claiming his face, and pauses for a moment. After blinking at her a few times, he replies with, "Two iced teas."

Two.

_He must be waiting on someone._

Mikasa nods at the request. "Sweetened or unsweetened?" she asks before turning on her heel to whip up the drinks accordingly.

"Unsweetened."

She gives him a half-smile to indicate his order has been received. _Then,_ a strange feeling overwhelms her. She can't explain it. There are no words to accurately describe it.

But even with her back turned, she can feel his eyes on her.

Mikasa isn't sure if he's watching her to ensure she doesn't slip something into the drinks, or if he's merely curious. The latter is the most common among the majority of the vacationers she's served. Some even go as far as flirt or ask for her number, to which she respectfully declines every time.

Either way, she's intrigued by this taciturn guest, convinced he harbors some seriously engaging stories and experiences- though he doesn't seem like the type to divulge such personal anecdotes like every other guest that waltzes into the beach club.

The mere idea of him sharing intimate narratives with her consumes her thoughts.

It bothers her. And she has no clue why.

After no more than a couple minutes, Mikasa's finished drumming up the two iced teas. She returns to the man and sets the drinks in front of him. He gives her a nod and tells her he's keeping the tab open for now, to which she gladly permits.

The next few minutes are a blur. Mikasa serves a few more guests, stealing furtive glances at the mystery man in between orders. There's a couple times she catches him looking at her, and it causes her heart to flutter, her stomach all tied up in knots.

She senses attraction… an oddly mutual, yet unspoken attraction. But at first sight? Is this what people mean when they talk about 'fate' and 'destiny'?

Whatever the feeling is, Mikasa's never felt it before.

It's strong, intense, compelling.

Before long, the man's plus one arrives and sits on the stool next to him. She's a young woman with shoulder-length amber hair and large brown eyes. She's clad in a floral maxi dress, a seashell necklace dangling around her neck.

Mikasa thinks the woman is pretty, radiating a flawless summer glow with evenly tanned skin.

She's never seen this woman either, though, unlike her male counterpart, she definitely strikes her as the quintessential 'tourist' type.

Mikasa's heart sinks in disappointment. She comes to the conclusion that they're a couple, so she dismisses her thoughts from earlier and resumes her work.

Much to her confusion, however, the man is still studying Mikasa from the distance, almost as if he's disregarding the woman's presence at his side completely.

Now Mikasa ponders the possibility they've met before or something. Otherwise why else would he continue looking at her with such a pensive expression?

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices him whisper something into the woman's ear and then point at something in the magazine from before. The woman's eyes widen in shock and she begins nodding her head, as if agreeing with whatever clandestine statement he had shared with her.

She then calls for Mikasa's attention, waving her over to them for what she can only assume is for another round of iced teas.

"Excuse me," the woman says, a smile lighting up her face, "sorry to bother you, but are you… _Mikasa Ackerman_?"

Mikasa's mouth slowly falls agape in surprise. Finally, she pulls herself together and formulates a response. "Yeah, that's me…" Her voice trails off.

"Thought so," the man affirms.

Mikasa looks back and forth between the two guests, curious as to where and how they've heard of her. Just as she's about to ask follow-up questions, the man shows her a familiar page in the magazine, leaving her speechless.

"This was you, right?" he asks, though it's obvious he already knows the answer.

Mikasa only stares at the photograph presented before her. She recognizes it instantly.

Fields of green pastures, laden with wild flowers in full bloom spark contrast with a single magnolia tree. The backdrop emits a whirl of celestial colors, scattered on an endearing canvas that is the early morning dawn.

In an adjacent article, credit for the piece is given to a _Mikasa Ackerman_ , college student, from Stohess Beach. Her student ID photo is featured as well.

Yup. That was her all right.

Last year, she had entered a photography competition for her fine arts class at Trost University. The instructor of said class suggested she enter the contest for extra credit, but she had no way of knowing her work would be competent enough to compete in a nation-wide, collegiate challenge.

At least, not until her instructor had informed her that her work, titled ' _Valley of Dreams_ ,' had won runner-up and would be featured in Shutterbug Magazine.

As if that wasn't enough to stupefy her senseless, Mikasa wasn't even majoring in anything remotely similar to the arts.

Her parents were rooting for her to study medicine; though she was admittedly detached from the material entirely.

 _I wonder…_ Mikasa thinks. _If he's…_

Suddenly, the man speaks up, pulling her from her contemplative reverie.

"I recently opened an art gallery right off of Mitras Boulevard," he explains, confirming that he is indeed a newcomer. He then gestures at the woman by his side. "This is Petra, my assistant. She's in town for the weekend to help me set up."

Petra and Mikasa promptly shake hands.

Mikasa's embarrassed to discover that she's his assistant and nothing more; internally chastising herself for the premature assumption from earlier.

The man then proceeds to introduce himself. "And I'm Levi."

Mikasa offers a polite, "Nice to meet you both." Obliging her piqued interest, she seeks additional information. "So, you're a professional photographer?"

_He has to be._

Levi nods. "Started out as freelance for a few years and then I landed a job at Outdoor Photographer Magazine. I realized that journalism wasn't really for me and opened up my own studio in Sina City."

Mikasa smiles in silent victory.

She's managed to get him to open to her, even if it is only in the slightest of ways.

Photography is their mutual affinity of all things.

"And what made you decide to open up a gallery in the small town of Stohess Beach?" she pries, thoroughly fascinated.

Levi's answer is a reasonable one. "Summer season brings in a lot of tourists and a lot of foot traffic on the main drag."

"I see," Mikasa concurs.

The trio briefly chat for a short while. Mikasa tells them that she's from the area, attends Trost University out of state, and had taken up photography as a hobby at the young age of thirteen.

She doesn't go into great detail, but her deep fondness for the art is effectively conveyed through heartfelt emotion and awe-struck demeanor.

She revels in that capturing images like the one featured in the magazine allows for her to express herself; like it's an intimate part of her identity.

And that's when she's hit with the hazy, lingering thoughts of 'fate' and 'destiny' once more.

Levi stuns her with a propositions of sorts.

"So then, Mikasa," he begins, "Would you be interested in being my assistant at the gallery for the summer?"

Mikasa tilts her head, her eyes landing on an enthused Petra. "I thought… _she_ was your assistant…?"

Petra shakes her head, chuckling. "I can't be in two places at once. I'd prefer to stay at his studio in Sina City, so he'd need the extra help here in Stohess Beach."

It makes sense to Mikasa, but she requires a bit more reassurance. "Why _me_ , though?" she asks.

Levi lists off reasons why she's the perfect candidate. "You're a student, back home for the summer. You're a local girl. You have experience working with people. And…" He pulls up the image in the magazine again. _Her_ image. "You have a sharp eye. Perhaps, even a _future_ in this industry."

It takes her a moment to register the compliment he's given her.

A future… in _photography_.

Still, she's reluctant to commit to anything just yet. After all, she's got the job at the beach club for one thing, and her parents might object to this whole notion regarding the pursuit of a potential career in the arts.

Mulling it over, Mikasa looks at Levi with uncertainty. "I don't know…" she drawls, undecided.

"Tell you what," Levi says, offering a resolution. "You're more than welcome to stop by the gallery tomorrow at any time and check it out for yourself. That way you can make a well-informed decision on the matter."

At that, Mikasa's eyes light up, suddenly hopeful at the prospect.

If nothing else, the opportunity would allow for her to see what kind of work he's done over the years; what his style is like, whether he prefers fine art portraiture or outdoor photography, or which way he leans on the whole 'film versus digital' debate.

There are so many questions she wants to ask him and she firmly believes she can gain valuable insight from shadowing his career.

Now _this_ proposition is something she can agree to.

Maintaining a calm expression, Mikasa accepts his offer.

"Okay," she says, "I'll be there tomorrow morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This concludes the June collection of ficlets! Still to come, July and August! :) Stay tuned!


	6. July - An Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the intro to the July collection of ficlets! The rest are completed but still require some editing. I'll be sure to upload those within the next couple days :) Can't believe it's almost August! :O  
> Hope everyone's summers are going well!

It’s all laughs and smiles in a corner booth at Stohess Beach Pizzeria, the adjacent window overlooking tranquil evening seaside merriment.

Hot pizza lays flat on the table, epitomizing the purest form of doughy perfection as all senses in close proximity are consumed with an otherworldly serenity.

Annie likes extra pepperoni.

Mikasa prefers thin crust.

Ymir drools over mozzarella and sundried tomatoes.

Pieck is the quintessential weirdo that likes pineapple on her pizza.

Quite the diversity indeed, though the complementarity also creates balance.

The restaurant is quaint, embellished with an array of string lights and an inordinate amount of Italian-inspired art and décor. The scent of freshly baked bread, zesty marinara, and rich basil linger in the effervescent aura of the modest kitchen and then flow mellifluously into the dining area, reaching each and every nostril within the ravenous crowd.

There’s a patio outside for outdoor seating, a small arcade with outdated games from the mid ‘90s by the entrance, and a small stage towards the back for karaoke and open mic nights.

It’s the perfect place to host the honorific tradition of _girls’ night out_.

They take a break from stuffing their faces to catch up, keeping one another updated on current events in their respective summers thus far.

With June now behind them, and July barely the first day in, it’s crazy to think that summer is a third of the way through already. They aren’t exactly sure what to expect over the upcoming seasonal changes, mindful of the fact that a lot can happen in the span of two months.

For now, however, they’ll remain focused on the task at hand; enjoying the night off at their favorite pizzeria.

Annie quickly finds herself subject to her friends’ nosiness and prying before she can fully divulge the details of her relationship with Eren of her own volition.

 _Relationship_ might not be the right word to describe her recent affairs with the new lifeguard, but it seems to be going in that direction.

“Have you guys made out yet?” Ymir’s question is crass, blunt, and totally predictable.

Annie pauses to sip from her water glass. “Not yet…” Her voice trails off, hinting at determination to rectify the unsightly fact.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow,” Mikasa interjects. “You’ve only gone out with him, like what? Twice, right?”

Annie nods, identifying both places as though she’s compiling a report. “Outdoor movie at the park and Hange’s Diner.”

“How sweet,” Ymir tuts, winking.

“You guys should visit the boardwalk and go for a ride on the Ferris wheel,” Pieck suggests. “At night, it’s lit up in all sorts of colors and they hand out free glow sticks.”

“Nothing’s more romantic than glow sticks,” Ymir chuckles. “Except maybe that you’d be alone together in the same passenger car…”

At this point, Ymir’s mind has inadvertently descended into a downward spiral straight for the gutter.

Annie on the other hand is still considering the recommendation when their booth is approached by a friendly employee, come to refill their water glasses.

“How is everything, ladies?” Reiner Braun is new to the job, having only recently been hired thanks to his friends, and now co-workers, Marcel and Bertolt putting in a good word for him.

The waiter role definitely suits him. The guy has a knack for cheering up even the saddest of ‘debbie downers’.

(Unless you’re Marcel’s brother, Porco, that is…)

It doesn’t take him long to refill each of their glasses, which provides him with feedback.

“It’s great,” Mikasa replies. The rest of the gal squad follow suit with thumbs up and satisfied smiles, unable to say anything because their cheeks are full of food like chipmunks storing up for winter. “Thanks.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Reiner smiles awkwardly, but maintains some semblance of professionalism as he commences his retreat back to the kitchen.

“Oh, excuse me, _waiter_ ,” Ymir calls out after him, quickly swallowing down her food.

Reiner’s initially caught off guard, pausing mid-step. He wonders what the freckled lifeguard has on her mind. The tone of her voice undoubtedly hints at mischief.

“Yes?” he asks, turning back to face their booth.

“It’s actually my birthday today and I was hoping you and your boys could put on a little show,” Ymir declares, her poker-face utterly flawless. “Or ya know, free ice cream will do.”  

Annie and Mikasa nearly choke upon hearing that, while Pieck nonchalantly chews away on her crust.

Reiner knows she’s pulling his leg. At least, about the birthday part… but in regards to free dessert?

_Shit. She looks deathly serious._

All hope seems lost, further exemplified by his flustered state. He can already envision the girls’ mockery and laughter, taking pictures and videos to post for all to see on every platform of social media.

Hell no. He doesn’t get paid nearly enough to put up with that kind of bullshit.

Just as he’s about to accept defeat, he suddenly hatches a plan, his internal anguish shifting to excitement when he remembers a sidesplitting detail.

He knows about the _thing_ between Ymir and Bertolt… and he decides to use that to his advantage.

If Ymir wants a little show… then her wish is his command.

He can easily reverse this attempt at humiliation.

With a devious smirk, Reiner nods and complies with her demand. “Of course.” Turning on his heel with fierce resolve, he heads back into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together like an evil mastermind.

In his absence, Ymir begins snickering away, slapping her knee in victorious amusement.

“I can’t believe he fell for it!” she heaves.

“I can’t believe you’d stoop as low as lying about your birthday to get free ice cream,” Annie retorts.

“ _I_ can believe it,” Mikasa comments blankly, to which Pieck concurs with a casual, “Same.”

Ymir waves all three off, dismissing the looks of disapproval from Annie with a huff. “Who cares? I just scored us some free ice cream!”

“You mean _you_ just scored _yourself_ some free ice cream,” Pieck corrects her.

Ymir scoffs, like she’s offended. “I’ll share with you ungrateful sluts.”

Mikasa rolls her eyes, putting zero faith in the freckled lifeguard’s half-assed vow.

Annie doesn’t get her hopes up either.

Pieck, however, gives Ymir a small reassuring smile, naivety written all over her face whilst her cravings blind her from the inevitable.

She reaches underneath the table to nurse her left ankle, relieved to have it back at full functionality. She’s able to walk and even run without so much as a smidgen of discomfort _but_...

Pieck kind of misses the piggy-back rides though.

At least now, Porco walks home with her after they close together.

To help pass the time, in lieu of impending ice cream, Pieck turns to Mikasa and alludes to a recent event.

“How’s your internship at the gallery so far?” she asks curiously.

Mikasa rests her elbows atop the table, tilting her head. “You mean at Levi’s gallery?”

Annie’s interest is piqued and Ymir’s golden brown eyes flash provocatively, eager to hear more.   

Mikasa suppresses a faint grin, though she can hardly contain her admiration for the subject. “Well, I’m actually not an intern,” she informs them. “I’m his assistant and…” She pauses before continuing, straining for a way to uphold a mature visage while commending her employer. “I love it. Levi’s work is phenomenal. I’m really lucky to have been given this opportunity.”

Ymir takes note of her softened expression, and stirs the pot. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” Mikasa nods, completely misinterpreting Ymir’s suggestive demeanor.

“Are you still working at the beach club?” Annie asks, finishing off her water glass.

“I am,” Mikasa replies, “and thankfully they’re super flexible with my schedule, so I’m able to maintain both jobs without feeling overwhelmed.”

Annie reverts back to the gallery, prying into Mikasa’s responsibilities as an assistant. “What exactly does he have you do for him?”

Ymir’s dirty little mind is going crazy with creative responses to that question.

Mikasa’s perplexed at first, finding the blonde’s wording somewhat off-handed before listing off her general duties. “I greet every one that walks in. I answer any questions potential clients may have. I take phone calls. File paperwork.” She raises a brow, wondering if she’d missed anything.

“Is it usually… just you two?” Annie probes, exchanging looks with Ymir.

“Not always,” comes Mikasa’s unfazed response. “Sometimes I have free reign of the gallery because he’ll be out ‘shooting on location’. But every now and then he’ll show me a few nifty tricks of the trade and gives me advice on which equipment works best and with what technique. Like an instructor would, I guess.” She’s attentive enough to notice her friends are harboring questions they’re hesitant to ask. Except Pieck, who seems to find her pineapple pizza just a bit more interesting.

Which is exactly why Mikasa is more than surprised to hear Pieck offer her input. “So… you look up to him as a sort of mentor?”

“I suppose…” Mikasa drawls, wiping a few crumbs off of Pieck’s t-shirt before steering the topic of discussion towards an attempt at explaining how it all came to be. “Remember the photo I used to enter in the contest last year?”

“Hell yeah,” Ymir answers, voice brimming with enthusiasm upon recollection.

“You were runner-up,” Pieck recalls. “It was an amazing shot.”

 _I didn’t think it was really all that great_ , Mikasa thinks. Instead of verbalizing her passive thoughts, she sighs and says, “Apparently he thought so, too.”

A brief silence intervenes. Pieck nibbles on her next slice of pizza, while Annie bites her tongue before she can crack a tasteless sarcastic joke.

Ymir beats her to the punch anyway, amused by Mikasa’s contemplative reverie.

“Someone’s a little hot for teacher,” she quips, leaning back against the padding of her seat, pursing her lips in a curved line.

Mikasa slacks her mouth agape, forcing her jaw to give way to an unrelenting yawn. Though she’s mostly unimpressed, she reasons with herself that Ymir’s impish teasing is to be expected.

_Fair enough._

“He’s attractive,” she admits, eyes wandering to the hushed commotion brewing from the kitchen. “And he… takes his job very seriously. It’s what I respect most about him.”

“Clearly,” Annie jests.

The disorderly noise from behind the kitchen swells further and further into the dining area. The four longtime friends fail to make out any audible bits of the heated conversation hidden from view, but the voices are vaguely recognizable.

Pieck is quick to distinguish Reiner, Marcel, and Bertolt- to which she gives Ymir a smile indicative of ulterior motives.

“I didn’t know _Bertolt_ was working tonight,” Pieck hums. “Were _you_ aware of that, Ymir?”

Annie sports an all-knowing grin, pressing the matter further. “No wonder you were so hell-bent on coming here instead of Hange’s Diner. You wanted to keep an eye on Hoover.”

Ymir can feel her entire face flush in a heated mess. Barely managing to quell her internal combustion, she’s able to keep it cool on the outside; maintaining her composure with easy explanations- or _excuses_ rather.

“What are you talking about? We’ve been coming to this place religiously for years.” Ymir shrugs, running her fingers through her short chestnut brown hair in what could be identified as a nervous tic or possible tell. “Besides, you know I’ve never been a fan of that diner anyway.”

Mikasa comes to Ymir’s defense, though it’s mostly out of pity and to pick up easy karma points. “They rotate the pizza makers pretty sporadically,” she says, tapping her chin in thought. “Maybe he’s off tonight.”

“Well given that he’s not a part of the waiting staff, it’s unlikely he’d come out of the kitchen,” Annie counters.

And then, as if on cue, the swing doors separating the kitchen from the dining area burst open, revealing a determined Reiner dragging an all-too familiar nervous giant out with him. Marcel follows behind in sheer exhilaration, a microphone in hand.

“Bert’s out,” Pieck states casually, still in mid-chew.

Oh the irony!

Ymir watches as the trio of boys make their way to the stage, confused as to why her free ‘birthday’ ice cream has yet to be presented before her.

Mikasa and Annie briefly wonder the same thing, contemplating what kind of tricks Reiner has up his sleeve.

Pieck, meanwhile, blanks for a moment, feeling a buzz in the pocket of her shorts.

It’s a text from the less gingerly of the Galliard twins. _Pock!_

Porco’s asking why there’s a bag of chips inside his locker in the breakroom at the surf shop.

Pieck’s eyes widen to their maximum circumference. She remembers stuffing them inside his locker last minute before she clocked off from her opening shift the day before.

She can’t remember why though. Desperation? Absentminded mistake? No more room in her own locker?

Doesn’t matter at this point. She’s quick-witted enough to come up with an instant save.

 **8:37pm – Pieck:** They’re for you! :)

She knows he hates emojis ( _and_ surprises) but she doesn’t want to let her guard down, or make it seem obvious she’s playing him.

Then… to her relief,

 **8:37pm – Pock:** …thanks…? Maybe give me a heads up next time..?

Pieck internally congratulates herself.

She’s outsmarted him, and he doesn’t even know it.

 **8:37pm – Pieck:** Hope you enjoy them!

With that out of the way, Pieck tucks away her phone and fixates her attention back to the spectacle on stage, watching in mild curiosity as Marcel begins setting up the karaoke machine and the speakers to which they’re paired with.

The screen behind Reiner and Bertolt powers on, a vast collection of songs varying from a wide range of genres on full display. 

Marcel hands over the mic to Reiner and gives him the thumbs up, indicating ‘all systems go’.

Reiner smiles wide as ever, throwing his arm around Bertolt’s shoulder, showcasing the prized pizza maker like he’s about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Hopeless dismay is ridden beneath Bertolt’s hazel green eyes, unsure what Reiner’s intentions are. He has an idea, and it’s not a very comforting conclusion he ultimately comes to.

Reiner waits until most of the patrons are giving him their utmost attention, and then clears his throat before speaking into the mic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy to announce that we have a birthday in the house!” He commences an enthused round of applause, signaling for his appointed assistant, Marcel, to shine the spotlight on the table where Ymir and her friends are sitting.

Ymir stifles a gasp, realizing Reiner has gained the upper hand.

_That sneaky son of a-_

When the applause dies down, Reiner continues. “Ymir is turning a fabulous sixteen today!”

 _Fuck you, Reiner_ , Ymir thinks, her friends’ muffled laughter grinding her gears.

“Now we here at Stohess Beach Pizzeria have a * _cough_ * special tradition. Rather than rally around the table and sing the same old boring birthday tune, we offer the birthday guest the opportunity to come up on stage and sing a song of their choice with one of very own employees!”

“No, we don’t actually-” is what Bertolt tries to muster out, his eyes pleading with Ymir for what she can only surmise must be an odd combination of ‘forgive me’ and ‘help me.’

His desperate remark falls on deaf ears as Reiner cuts him off.

“It’s a spin on the old outdated birthday custom. Keeps things interesting,” Reiner explains to the amassed audience. “And Ymir requested to put on a little show for us tonight!”

The whole thing is total bullshit.

But the owner is off for the night, having put his faith in the three boys to hold down the fort in his absence.

He’s probably better off not knowing what had transpired during his time off.

Reiner sets his sights on his target. The opportunity to fire back at Ymir for her attempt at extorting ice cream is too good to pass up.

“So without further ado,” he announces, keeping a tight grip on both the mic and his tall companion, “Let’s give a warm welcome to the birthday gal as she makes her way up to the stage!”

The cumulated audience is cheering for Ymir to head onwards, entreating her to dazzle them with her presumably talented vocal abilities.

Although the opposite would be equally entertaining.

She looks over at her friends, finding their twisted smirks and supportive nods reassuring enough.

“Go on,” Pieck encourages her. “Go and _earn_ that ice cream.”

“Careful which song you choose,” Mikasa playfully warns her. “You’re an alto so your range is kinda limited.”

“And tell your boy Hoover not to _sweat it_ ,” Annie quips sardonically, a little too proud of her impromptu joke.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Ymir chuckles, getting up from her seat. “Wish me luck.”

 _What the hell_ , she thinks, wanting nothing more than to get it over with. _Why not?_

As she casually ambles on to the stage, not giving a shit at this point, Bertolt feels his heart beat wildly against his chest in rapid succession, his face burning bright red.

_Is she… she’s actually going through with this?!_

Reiner claps his hands together in satisfaction, anticipating the next few moments with fervor.

“Awesome!” He implores the crowd to applaud her arrival and then gestures toward his tall companion. “Bertolt here has offered to sing along. Marcel, bring us another microphone, will ya?” With the single snap of his fingers, another mic appears, and Reiner distributes one to each of the upcoming performers.

The audience is cheering even louder, to which Ymir basks in the glory of the crazed attention.

Meanwhile… in another conversation…

Bertolt refuses the mic and confronts Reiner in desperation. “Reiner! Seriously?! NOW? RIGHT NOW?!”

“Yes!” Reiner responds with equal amounts of ferocity. “Don’t wuss out! This is your chance!”

 _My chance?_ Bertolt thinks in despair. _Chance for what?!_

When he looks away, the mere sight of a riveting brunette answers the muted question swirling about his head.

Reiner might have thrown him on stage to avenge himself from Ymir’s snarky antics, but Bertolt realizes he’s also been thrust into this unsightly scenario to win over the cold and brash lifeguard that is Ymir.

There’s no denying that there’s something going on between them, and Bertolt wonders if Ymir feels what he’s feeling now.

Ymir chuckles and leans in to whisper something in Bertolt’s ear. “It’s just you and me, Bertie,” she tells him. “Let’s not disappoint everyone.”

He’s momentarily lost in a trance, until he’s jolted back to reality with a comforting realization.

Ymir is with him.

She could walk off stage at any time. She could have turned down Reiner’s offer- or blown off his insistent pleas rather. She could have booted Bertolt off and chosen to perform solo.

But she _hasn’t_.

She seems to want to keep him around.

And that’s enough reassurance for the tall nervous wreck that is Bertolt Hoover.

At her request, Bertolt nods in agreement. “Right,” he says. They’re in this together.

Upon hearing the comply, Ymir shuffles through several selections of songs, nothing particular catching her eye.

She stops at the first song to incite nostalgia and that sweet ‘aha’ moment.

“This is the one,” she mutters.

 _Don’t Stop Believin’_ as made famous by Journey.

Ymir clicks the remote to finalize her decision, smiling victoriously.

_Everyone knows this song._

Bertolt sighs in relief, grateful it’s a song he knows by heart and can do without the lyrics on the screen. He’s also just glad it’s not a Justin Bieber song. _Phew!_

Not that Ymir strikes him as the type to listen to modern day pop, really.

Back at the booth, Pieck whips out her phone and prepares to record the imminent fiasco. Annie eagerly awaits as well, her usually stoic expression subsiding for one of intrigue. Mikasa only wishes she had brought her camera. Taking a note from Pieck’s resolution, she settles on using her phone as a substitute for the travesty.

Just as the uproarious atmosphere from before dissolves into a quiet stillness, the familiar opening instrumentals to the beloved ‘80s tune boosts the already hyped excitement stirring up among the audience.

Ymir waits as the opening sequence lets up, and pours her heart and soul into the first verse.

_Just a small-town girl_

_Living in a lonely world_

_She took the midnight train going anywhere…_

Bertolt sees that as his cue, and although initially reluctant, busts out with the next part.

_Just a city boy_

_Born and raised in south Detroit_

_He took the midnight train going anywhere…_

Ymir taps her foot to the beat and smiles, taken aback by her co-vocalist’s voice.

The boy isn’t half bad… and his passionate energy is adorable.

The audience is cheering the duo on. Ymir winks at the whistling coming from the booth, watching in amusement as her friends hoot and holler.

Reiner whistles a cat call, ultimately deciding Ymir has earned her ice cream. She’s held up her end of the bargain anyway.

The chorus envelops the entire restaurant, more applause flooding in. Ymir sways her hips slowly from side to side, looking over at Bertolt who’s somehow keeping up with the rhythm. He’s less awkward now, and he can’t help but smile.

Soon, they’re not alone in singing as the crowd follows along with the jam, pumping fists into the air, sending their love to the tall duo.

_Don’t stop believin’!_

_Hold on to that feelin’!_

A peaceful and wholesome tranquility fills the pizzeria, bringing everyone together for a few moments.

From her vantage point at the booth, Annie realizes that’s what summer in a small town should be all about.

Community. Friends. Family. Good old fashioned fun.

Everything feels all right in this brief lapse in time.

She hopes she’ll always remember these illustrious days of her youth; the fondest of memories.

_Oh, sweet, sweet summer…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've listened to 'Alternative Drive' from the SnK character songs... then you're aware that Bertolt has the voice of an angel ;)
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, I teeter-totter with the usage of 'Porco' and 'Pock,' but in Pieck's ficlets, he'll solely be referred to as Pock cuz that's the cute nickname she's bestowed upon him. lol)


	7. July - Pieck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why this is so long lol I got carried away.  
> In any event... here comes some fluff!

She’s rollerblading down the boardwalk when she bumps into him, classic summer jams from her mp3 player blaring through both earbuds.

The wooden platform shifts to concrete as she continues strolling along a familiar trajectory, following a lengthy trail that edges the exterior of Stohess’ golden sandy beaches.

Pieck sways from side to side, pushing one leg forward after the other in perfect harmony to the beat of _Summer of ’69_ by Bryan Adams. Her left ankle has achieved a full recovery, allowing for the effective use of the continuous range of motions, keeping her momentum smooth and steady.

She passes a lemonade stand, an ice cream truck, and several people walking their dogs en route to no destination on particular. She figures she can make a decision on where to go next when she reaches the end of the boardwalk.

At the half-way mark, she spots the all-too familiar pair of twins from her peripherals and heavily decelerates.

The Galliard twins are carrying a couple of bright orange kayaks, their sights set on the bristling shore ahead as though the calm waters are calling them by name.

Marcel is the first to see Pieck rollerblading casually their way.

“Hey, Pieck!” he waves, stopping to greet the petite ravenette.

His brother, ‘Pock’, pauses and turns— startled by what appears to be Pieck initiating a ‘landing’ of sorts.

Although she’s not propelled at full speed, Pieck isn’t slowing her pace down one bit, headed straight for Pock amid his momentarily alarmed state.

He’s suddenly quick to anticipate her brazen arrival, catching her in his arms like it’s a mere reflex… though it’s mainly to prevent them _both_ from a disastrous collision.

“Woah,” Marcel mumbles, half-hoping they would’ve crashed against the boardwalk in a floppy mess. It would’ve made one hell of a story on snapchat.

In the aftermath of the literal ‘run-in with each other’, Pock finds that Pieck’s arms are still wrapped around him, her face nuzzled against his chest.

A part of him is still trying to register the close call, another part is hoping to dear god above she can’t hear the wild beating of his heart, spiking in erratic elevation.

Pieck looks up at him, her eyes endearingly relaxed. “Happy Fourth of July,” she says politely.

Pock gives her a disconcerting look, but accepts her slightly brash holiday greeting nonetheless.

“Yeah,” he says, “Same to you.”

 _This_ girl…

Pieck releases herself from their brief hold on one another, steadying her legs on the pair of gently used rollerblades adorning her feet.

She casts her gaze to their bright orange kayaks, remembering Pock’s affinity for more leisurely activities as opposed to extreme water sports.

Pieck thinks she ought to challenge him to a kayak race sometime. That’s not _too_ extreme, is it?

She’s about to bid them farewell with a plain ‘Have fun out there,’ when Marcel makes an inquiry into her agenda for the national holiday.

“Are you and Annie still going to see the fireworks tonight?” he asks, positioning himself by Pock’s side.

Pieck nods, leaning against some wooden railing. “Mhhhmmm.”

Marcel elbows Pock at his side, giving him a slight jolt to ensure he heard that correctly.

“Awesome,” Marcel states emphatically. “Then Porco and I will see you there.” He turns to his brother, shooting him a gregariously taunting grin. “Isn’t that right, Porco?”

The younger of the two (by a measly twelve minutes but Marcel will never stop reminding him) is struck with an odd buildup of tension when he looks over Pieck, finding the return of the inexplicable rise of conflicted feelings rather unsettling.

 _Dammit_.

A part of him sees her as a friend; one he’s known since they were kids. Another part of him thinks she’s weird; a nuisance in the workplace for sure.  

But perhaps he’s always felt _something_ deeper for her, though the concept itself baffles him to no end, given that he’s never taken so much as a moment to confront these harbored emotions.

Regardless, these precarious feelings are here to stay, much to his chagrin.

Pock realizes he’s taken too long to answer, earning him dual looks of equal parts amusement and confusion. Finally, he manages to muster out, “Sure. See you tonight.”

Pieck nods in agreement and shuffles past them, but not before adding one last sentiment. “Maybe we can share some kettle corn.”

The suggestion is certainly expected of Pieck.

Pock’s just grateful her usual craving for chips have seemingly subsided.

 _Sounds like a plan._   

* * *

 

The community park is bustling with all things red, white, and blue.

Hot dogs are selling like it’s the end of the world. Several flags are hoisted up on an alignment of metal poles. Families, friends, and neighbors alike are scattered along the grounds of the park, setting up their lawn chairs and blankets for the viewing pleasure of the fireworks show later in the evening.

Pieck and Annie arrive on the premises carrying two large blankets to serve as a barrier of sorts between them and the grass. It doesn’t take the pair long to scope out a decent spot on the verdant field ahead, regarding the close proximity to the festive food stands with the utmost importance.

As Pieck begins setting up the blanket arrangements with Annie, an acquaintance she’s vaguely familiar with comes their way.

It’s _Eren_. The new guy in town. The new lifeguard at the beach.

Little Miss Leonhart’s plus one for the night’s festivities.

“Hey, Annie,” he says, addressing her with a warm smile. Before giving the short blonde a hug, he acknowledges Pieck with a courteous wave, using this as a good time to finally introduce himself to one of Annie’s buddies.

His first impression so far is a good one, as indicated by the polite grin Pieck offers in return. “Happy fourth,” she salutes the green-eyed newcomer, waving a miniature American flag to emphasize her patriotic greeting.

It isn’t long until the group of three becomes five, and the sudden arrival of twins prevents Pieck from prying into more about Eren and Annie’s whirlwind romance.

“Pieck! Annie!” Marcel is cheerful as always, clad in an old t-shirt with the faded letters ‘U S A’ labeled on the front. “You finally made it!”

And just as Pieck had predicted the moment she felt the Galliard twins’ presence, Eren and Annie utilize the opportunity to slip away for a moment into the obscurity of the crowd.

“All right then…” Annie declares after a general round of ‘hellos’ and small talk, suppressing an impish tone as she reaches for Eren’s hand. “We’ll be right back.”

To do what exactly? Well… Pieck has a guess… but she keeps it to herself. Truth be told, it could be something as innocent and tame as buying snacks.

Pieck shrugs the thought off indifferently and diverts her attention elsewhere. The lingering scent of a fresh batch of kettle corn tickle her senses, jolting her priorities back into place.

She’s eager to get her hands on quality snacking material.

“Annie and the new guy seem to be getting along well,” Marcel remarks, intercepting Pieck’s contemplation.

Pieck nods and opens her mouth to say something when Marcel’s phone starts ringing.

It takes him a couple rings to fish it out of his pocket, chuckling when he sees the caller ID.

“Reiner, where are you?” he asks, much to the displeasure of his brother, Pock.

With Reiner talking Marcel’s ear off, Pieck turns to address the ‘younger’ twin.

She hands him a miniature American flag, an exact replica of hers. “Here. This is for you.”

Pock stares at her for a moment, unsure what to say or do. And then, “Where’d you get this from?”

Pieck points at tricolored booth by the park’s main entrance. “They were handing them out for free a little while ago.” She pauses, momentarily searching for Annie among the crowd ahead of her, but to no avail. “I _was_ planning on getting one for Annie but-”

“But she ditched?” Pock finishes for her.

“I got one for you instead,” Pieck affirms.

“…” Pock goes blank. “Oh.”

 _Oh_.

In timely fashion, Marcel ends his phone call with a casual, “See ya,” and alerts the pair before him he’s off to meet up with Reiner in the parking lot.

He emits a dry chuckle when he looks them over. “That’s cute. You guys have matching flag thingies.” He gives them a thumbs up before leaving. “Gotta go find Reiner. Catch ya later!”

Dashing away, beyond the crowd and further still, Marcel commences a light jog through an unclear path, phone handy in case he’s unsuccessful in finding his longtime pal.

Welp…

Pock hadn’t quite anticipated this outcome.

It’s not that he’s _not_ used to being alone with Pieck; after all, they tend to work the same shifts at the surf shop.

It’s just that… he’s… well… not used to being alone with Pieck.

He’s glad he doesn’t have to break the silence between them, as the tiny ravenette is the first to speak.

“When Annie and Eren get back, we should go to the kettle corn stand,” Pieck suggests.

Pock nods, though his thoughts harbor passive cynicism. ‘ _If’ they get back_. “Sure.”

Upon hearing his comply, Pieck sits herself down on the blanket, guarding her and Annie’s belongings. She looks up at Pock and scoots aside to make extra space, motioning towards the empty spot with a gentle pat.

“Sit with me,” she says, beckoning him to join her in customary summer relaxation.

The invite stirs yet another mixture of conflicted feelings for the otherwise hard-headed guy. He’s taken aback by how nonchalant she is about almost everything- which makes him all the more perplexed as to why he’s the one undergoing this questionable hesitation.

It’s obvious she’s more than comfortable being around him, and truthfully, she hasn’t changed much since they were kids.  

Memories flicker like an on/off switch in his head as he sits down next to her.

They grew up in the same neighborhood. Attended the same school. Have plenty of mutual friends. Work together on a frequent basis.

 _Oh god_.

And they’ve kissed once… when they were in kindergarten.

He remembers it like it was yesterday- and he cringes every time the memory comes back to haunt him.

Pieck wanted to play ‘House,’ (he despises how all of these ‘first kisses in kindergarten’ stories are just horridly cliché and start out in similarly cringe-worthy fashion) and what does every household need?

A Mom and a Dad.

The trip down memory lane is cut short when he remembers _the kiss_.

 _Why is that stupid memory coming back to me now?!_ Pock thinks in despair, remembering how his five-year-old self was convinced he was going to die from contracting the ever-so-lethal cooties.

Crazy to think how long ago that was. So… distant…

Pieck’s soft voice brings him back to his senses, though it’s obvious she too is reminiscing over their childhood days. “Remember that one time I was over at your house the summer before we started middle school… Your mom made us fruit juice popsicles… I think it was after one of your baseball games…”

Pock huffs in amusement. “You mean after we won the little league tournament?” He will forever boast about that for as long as he lives.

“Yup,” Pieck replies.

Pock vaguely recalls said date. “Kinda. What about it?”

Pieck tilts her head. “We were watching some movie in the living room but… I can’t remember what movie.”

Pock wonders where this random query is coming from- and why she’s bringing it up at all.

Disregarding her thought-process momentarily, Pock allows for his mind to wander down memory lane once again. Looking back on it all now, he’s reminded of how close they used to be as kids. As the years flew by, they slowly grew apart- drifting into other groups, texting rather than calling, devoting their time to differing interests, speaking only in passing rather than on a daily basis.

Neither ever took it personally. They simply came to accept that was a part of life.

People come and go.

But here they were now… together again… their thoughts reverting back to where it all started.

Pieck doesn’t seem to let the time skip faze her. She still calls him by the same cheeky nickname. She still considers him a friend.

Pock can’t help but brood over the past.

She was always there for him. Always reliable. Always too damn relaxed about everything.

Pieck could push his buttons at times… but he always let her get away with it.

Because it was _Pieck_.

He resumes the conversation, stopping himself from overanalyzing everything. “I can’t remember either,” he responds after drawing a blank. “Why?”

Pieck only shrugs. “Just thought about that when I saw you earlier today.” She chuckles a single beat and sighs. “It’s going to bother me until I remember the name of it.”

Pock studies her in silence, only then realizing how close they are. She’s not looking at him, her gaze fixated up at the sky, watching as the sun disappears below the horizon.

He could stay like this for a while.

* * *

 

By the time Annie and Eren return, the night is in full swing and the fireworks show is set to begin in approximately half an hour.

Granted, Pock is more than fine with the wait, as it gives him time to listen to Pieck go on about her humble college life, how she found a lost cat at her doorstep and refuses to look for the owner because they’ve bonded, and how she plans on stocking the breakroom at the surf shop with a month-long supply of chips to boost morale.

He in turn tells her about his boring college experiences thus far, how much he despises cats and prefers dogs (but truth be told, humans don’t deserve them because they’re assholes while dogs are just too pure), and how she should invest her snack purchases on something actually worthwhile like twinkies or giant bags of skittles.

Neither succeed in remembering what movie they were watching that fateful summer day several years prior.

Annie lazily plops herself down on the adjacent blanket, ignoring the suggestive glances from Pieck. Eren follows suit and sits next to her, ensuring the blonde’s comfort above all else. They’re sharing a salted pretzel, though Pieck doubts the snack was the sole reason they were gone for a while.

Yawning, Pieck stretches out both legs in preparation to finally get her hands on a bag of kettle corn with Pock.

Except, Pock seems distracted.

Pieck notices he’s replying to a text. “Ready to get snacks?” she asks.

Pock finishes responding to the abrupt message he’d received from his brother, informing him of a booth handing out ‘some cool freebies,’ as he had put it.

He’s not all that interested in the ‘freebies’, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be alone with just his brother and Reiner.

 _Sorry, Pieck_ , he thinks, _Snacks will have to wait._

He rises to his feet and offers to help Pieck up. “Come on,” he tells her. “Let’s go meet up with Marcel. We still have some time.”

“Okay,” Pieck complies. “And _then_ we’ll get kettle corn.”

Leaving Annie and Eren alone to their devices, the two make their way to the opposing side of the park. It doesn’t take either of them long to identify Marcel and Reiner- and what appears to be _sparklers_.

“Check it out!” Marcel is having a little too much fun. “They’re passing ‘em out before the show starts.”

Pieck is in awe; drawn to the sparklers like a moth to a flame. “They’re so… pretty.”

“Better hurry,” Reiner jests, flaunting his acrobatic skills by balancing dual sparklers on each pointer finger. “They’re running out!”

 _Fuck you, Reiner, and your stupid lack of eyebrows_ , Pock thinks to himself.

“You want one?” he asks, looking over at Pieck.

Pieck nods, eyes lighting up.

She’s beyond adorable.

And that’s enough to fuel Pock’s determination.

He _will_ get Pieck a sparkler, even if he has to knock a few kids out of his way to do so.

He will raid this entire town if anyone tries to stop him.

The long line at the sparkler booth might have discouraged anyone else, but oh no, not Porco Galliard. Compared to what he’s had to go through in the past, this poses hardly any challenge at all. It’s all in the timing at this point.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to kick anyone’s ass or resort to raiding the town. Not when he’s such a quick thinker and Reiner’s foolish antics often turn on him and bite him in the ass.

Pock slowly strolls up to the booth and strategizes his sneak attack, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Just as he’s predicted, Reiner’s idiocy is his own ultimate demise. One of his sparklers projectiles high up into the air, falling back against his jacket which results in quite the disaster.

“Shit!” Reiner bellows, realizing the article of clothing has caught on fire, burning brighter and brighter. “I’m on fire! Literal freaking fire!”

“Reiner! Stop, drop, and roll!” Marcel yells in desperation, coming to his rescue. Sort of.

The people standing in line at the booth take notice and are immediately stirred in a frenzy.

“Someone help him!”

“Is he on fire?!”

“Call the fire department!”

The people running the stand hastily leave the booth to provide assistance to the stocky blond. “Throw water on him!”

Rather than laugh his ass off like he desperately wants to, Pock chooses to act upon seeing the fiasco commence so perfectly; like it was orchestrated by Satan himself.

He heads into the booth when no one’s looking and reaches for a single sparkler, smirking victoriously.

Whistling a casual tune like it’s an easy Sunday morning, Pock strolls past the onlookers and bystanders to make his way back to Pieck.

While everyone else is losing their ever-loving mind, she’s merely yawning at the chaotic sight before her, like Reiner’s shenanigans-gone-bad are an everyday occurrence.

Reiner is still rolling on the ground in an effort to put out the flames when suddenly, a bucket of water is thrown over him.

That certainly does the trick.

With the excitement put out as underwhelmingly as the fire itself, people go back to what they were doing just seconds prior, as though nothing happened at all.

Marcel’s sparkler is still lit up, slowly dying out, though it’s a mere after-thought for the brunet as he’s still concerned about the soaking wet Reiner.

Pock snaps his fingers to get his brother’s attention before he loses his chance. “Marcel, let me borrow your sparkler.”

“You can have it,” Marcel says, handing it over. “Gotta make sure Reiner’s all right.”

“He’ll be fine.” Pock rolls his eyes disdainfully, accepting the item with care. “Pieck and I are going back now.”

Hearing her name being mentioned, Pieck’s head instantly perks up.

Pock gives her the sparkler, as promised. He warns her to be careful as he offers to light it up with the one Marcel gave him.

It happens so fast. Small sparks fly in all directions and then consume its epicenter. The light is concentrated at the peak of the horizontal tip, flashing in bright bursts of white and gold.

Pieck holds it at an angle, watching in amazement as the ignition spurs a wondrous visage, seized in the palm of her hand like a treasure.

Pock watches her closely, and takes it all in.

The silhouette of her smile is visible behind the flickering of luminous sparks, her eyes practically glowing in astonishment.

The purest of sights to behold.

Even if it had come down to fighting every single person in that long-ass line, he wouldn’t hesitate to raise his fists for a second; so long as it meant he’d get to see her like this.

* * *

 

As soon as their sparklers burn out, Pock leads them to the kettle corn stand, ensuring Pieck gets the desired treat before the show begins.

They make it back to the reserved spot on the grassy field just in the nick of time.

Annie and Eren are laying down, staring up at the night sky in anticipation for the highlight of the holiday.

Pieck doesn’t waste any time devouring mouthfuls of the festive hors d'oeuvre, satisfied with the crunchy texture and sweet flavor of the freshly popped kernels.

“Thanks again, Pock,” she whispers, setting the snack aside for them to share.

Pock gives her a half-smile, but can’t bring himself to say anything.

He’s unsure whether or not anything needs to be said.

Shaking his head, he makes peace with his decision to stay silent- for now, that is.

_Pieck…_

A single drum beats in the distance, and something fires up high into the sky above.

The first display of pyrotechnics ignites and then explodes; whirling in a spiral, shattering into a thousand sparks, tumbling like a scarlet waterfall, floating in a glittering silver shower.

The crowd goes berserk, cheering on the fireworks show as it’s just begun.

Annie lifts herself up a bit, cuddling against Eren. “About time.”

“Aww yeah!” Eren enthuses.

Pock tears his eyes away from Pieck, his gaze locked on the fireworks blasting ahead.

Multiple colors flash in a vast array, spattering against the night sky like paint on a canvas. Not much can be heard above the deafening noise, save for the occasional ‘oooohs’ and ‘awwwws.’

Absentmindedly, Pock reaches for the bag of kettle corn centered in between him and Pieck.

Turns out Pieck had the same agenda, which results in his hand covering hers for a split second.

Humiliated, he pulls his hand away, muttering an apology he doubts she can even hear. When he looks over at her, a part of him is surprised to see she’s merely munching away on another handful of kettle corn, oblivious to his flustered state as she continues enjoying the dazzling fireworks show.

Pock suppresses a somewhat bitter chuckle, masking a glint of relief.

He can see more of this in his future… but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the matter any more than that.

He just wants to live in the moment.

_Happy Fourth, Pieck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this pairing may as well be canon ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. July - Ymir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff! :)

She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed half this much, particularly on an outing with someone of interest.

Ymir supposes this ‘outing’ with Bertolt _could_ be classified as a date, seeing as how it’s the first time they’re hanging out alone, without the distractions and interruptions that come with the baggage of socializing in groups.

The setting is certainly fitting of a date. The Stohess Beach Pier is lined with carnival games and food stands, attracting plenty of locals and tourists alike to binge on a fried treat or try their hand at balloon darts.

Ymir and Bertolt walk closely together, marveling at the colorful display of booths stretching all along the pier from one end to the other, each featuring a unique game and rack full of potential prizes.

They have yet to decide which booth to give a try, eyeing several in amusement as they’re met with the oddest of gimmicks and promos.

A nonchalant stroll finally leads them to a promising sight; _the shooting gallery_.

Ymir already has her ‘eyes on the prize’, so to speak.

A giant stuffed dog that vaguely resembles ‘Snoopy’, the beloved Beagle from _Peanuts_.

She’s a softie at heart and a hopeless sucker for oversized plushies, but she vows to keep her collection of big ass stuffed animals a secret; one she’ll take to her grave.

Bertolt _might_ be an exception to that rule, however, as she figures she can trust him. He strikes her as a softie, too.

“This one looks really cool,” Bertolt remarks eagerly, coming to a tentative stop in front of the shooting gallery. “Wanna give it a go?”

Ymir looks back and forth between ‘Snoopy’ and ‘Bertie’ before answering, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “I’m more of a ring-toss kinda gal, so I’ll sit this one out and let you handle it.”

Bertolt gives her a nod, then tells the booth attendant he’s ready to go. With that, the gallery powers up in an instant, lights beaming sporadically. The targets comprise of numerous decoy ducks moving along in mechanical fashion like they’re on a conveyer belt. The occasional decoy gopher shoots up from the same two hidden holes, its laugh track resembling something more along the lines of chipmunks or squirrels.

The sound effect error is a forgivable one, however.

Ymir is curious to see how the whole thing will play out, finding the way his entire demeanor has quickly shifted from shy and unassuming to one of determination and resolve beyond intriguing.

He looks so much more intense… and Ymir thinks it’s incredibly adorable.

_He just upgraded from Bertie to Bert-hottie._

Said hottie holds up the plastic rifle and narrows in on one of his targets, landing a direct hit once he’s pulled the trigger.

 _Woah_ , Ymir’s eyes widen in disbelief. _Beginner’s luck maybe?_

Bertolt, meanwhile, keeps at it, unfazed by the pickup in speed. The ducks are moving faster, but he refuses to let a single one get away. He sees the opportunity and takes it.

_*pop* *pop* *pop*_

Three ducks in row have been taken down, slaughtered like the pathetic scraps of metal they are. Few ducks remain now, yet the gopher is still at it with its trickeries, popping out of either hole intermittently.

Bertolt shoots yet another duck, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He sees it coming a mile away.

The exact moment he sees the furry brown head pop up from the left side, Bertolt doesn’t miss a single beat, shooting the gopher right between the eyes.

“Goddamn, kid!” The gallery attendant must be used to sucking people dry, counting on the trickery or the general public’s lack of shooting skills to keep his wallet fat. His voice sounds strangely both impressed and disappointed that _someone_ has finally managed to hit _something_.

“Two ducks left!” Ymir cheers him on, anticipating the final round. “You got this!”

* _pop_ *

“One duck le-”

*pop*

"Oh my god!"

_And they say ‘the house always wins.’_

Ymir’s jaw drops like a heavy weight.

The whole thing couldn’t have been longer than twenty seconds.

The attendant is equally astonished. He takes the plastic rifle back from Bertolt and peers over at the gallery, shutting it down. Every single target had been taken out- even that godforsaken gopher-chipmunk-squirrel hybrid. With a sigh, he motions toward the selection of prizes.

“Anything’s fair game, kid,” he says, a tad dejected. “You’re a hell of a shot.”

“Thanks,” Bertolt replies. “Didn’t happen overnight.” He turns his gaze to Ymir and urges her to choose a prize from the rack overhead. “You can pick any one you want.”

Ymir flashes her pearly whites and feigns a dainty coo. “Awww really? You’re too kind.”

_Snoopy! Come to mama!_

Ymir points out the object of her desire, watching as Bertolt reaches for the enormous stuffed animal with nary a hint of difficulty. He gently hands it over to her and chuckles.

“Good grief.”

* * *

A few games and some cotton candy later, Ymir and Bertolt commence the short trek back from the pier to his motorcycle- albeit at a slow, easy-going pace.

Ymir doesn’t mind riding ‘bitch-seat’ as it serves as an excuse to wrap her arms around him from behind… _but_ the daredevil inside her hopes he’ll let her take helm at some point.

More importantly, _he owns a motorcycle._

Owns. A. Fucking. Rad. Motorcycle.

A Motorcycle!

Bringing herself out of her ‘one headlight’ fantasies, Ymir remembers how he killed it back at the shooting gallery and indulges in some harmless coquettish banter.

“So,” she begins, still cradling Snoopy in one arm, “are you like distantly related to ‘Billy the Kid’ or something?”

Bertolt only chuckles in response, shaking his head.

“Wyatt Earp? Doc Holliday? Jesse James? Butch Cassidy?”

“You really know your outlaws,” he quips, a little impressed. “You watch a lot of westerns?”

“Not exactly, but _Tombstone_ was worth the two and a half hour sit-through,” Ymir replies in an amused huff. “Seriously though, where’d you learn to shoot like that?"

“My dad,” Bertolt responds, nostalgic. “Taught me when I was a kid.”

Ymir nods, understanding. “Like father, like son, huh?”

“I’m nowhere near as good as he is. My shooting doesn’t even come close.” Bertolt’s smile slowly fades. “I’d be lucky to become _half_ as good a marksman as he is.”

Ymir takes note of his softened expression, and commends his abilities as an attempt at reassurance. “Well, he should be proud of you,” she tells him “He certainly taught you well.”

Bertolt’s warm smile returns, accompanied by a small blush.

“Hell, I’d pit you against Billy the Kid in a draw any day,” Ymir jests, nudging his arm playfully with her elbow. “Maybe… you could teach me to shoot like that sometime.”

Her comment catches him off guard for a moment. “Wait… really? Why?”

Ymir shrugs. “Why not? Self-defense, I guess.”

Bertolt allows a chuckle to slip, nudging her back with his arm. “I doubt anyone would even _try_ to mess with you.” _You scare everyone at the beach when you’re on lifeguard duty._ “And if they did, they’d sorely regret it.”

Ymir grins naughtily, grateful to have found her ‘partner in crime’. “What do you say we stick together then? I throw the punches and you do the shootin’. Deal?”

“They teach you hand-to-hand combat in lifeguard training?” Bertolt deadpans.

“Not really,” comes Ymir’s sardonic response. “But I’ve had a few run-ins with some big, bad, great whites. They say you gotta punch them hard in the nose.”

_Other than that, you’re pretty much, ya know, screwed._

“Figures,” Bertolt muses, rubbing the back of his neck. “If… uhm… you really want to learn, I’ll teach you.”

_Awh, hell yes!_

They’ll make quite the mighty fine dynamic duo yet!

Ymir wants to reach for his face and kiss him. The level of her enthusiasm is utterly unfathomable, but she contains her excitement and keeps herself subdued.

 _Can’t get too outta control_.

“You and me,” she hums, “We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde.”

_Except we won’t go around robbing banks… or die in a shootout with the fuzz._

Before she has time to say anything else, she realizes that Bertolt has reached for her hand, their fingers interlocking together.

She’s surprised that he’s the one to make the first move. Granted, it’s just the innocent act of holding hands but she had initially convinced herself she would have to be the one to move things forward in their brewing relationship.

Turns out the friendly giant isn’t as _shy_ as she had originally presumed.

And she loves it.

His hand is big, calloused, and so warm… so comforting. Ymir can feel her heart rage on in a wildly intense beat; giving her the impassioned adrenaline rush she hasn’t felt for anybody in a very long time.

Bertolt looks over at her again, so endearing and- _god, he’s so cute it’s physically hard on her ovaries to see him smile._ Ymir is tempted to give in to her desires then and there.

But she holds off… for now. He looks as though he’s on the verge of saying something.

“Bonnie and Clyde were cool and all…” he finally says, voice deep and fucking angelic. “But I’m thinking I like us just as we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're caught up with the manga then you know that Bertie was an exceptional marksman during his Marley training days ;) Wish we coulda seen that put to good use :/


	9. July - Annie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed writing about these two.

She’s probably seen this view more times than she can count, but somehow… it’s different.

The lookout point from where she stands sits atop a high ridge, roughly five hundred meters in elevation. It overlooks the town of Stohess Beach from a riveting distance, lights flickering off as the sun slowly rises, ushering in a mesmerizing dawn.

Annie leans back against the hood of a classic ’69 Ford Mustang, sighing. She’s always considered herself a morning person, rather fond of waking up to the mellifluous chirping of birds or the scent of fresh ground coffee.

This morning, however, she had woken up to find Eren at her front doorstep, offering to take her out to breakfast and then cruise along a few old roads as Bruce Springsteen croons over the radio.

She figures he would enjoy catching the tail-end of the sunrise from this enviable vantage point. Judging by the thoughtful look on his face, it seems as though her suggestion has not disappointed. She continues studying him as he sits next to her on the hood of the car. The silhouette of his face illuminates as the sun rises higher and higher still. His eyes appear brighter in effervescent radiance as the warmth of the morning glow finally reaches their position above the ridge.

Annie hesitates to break the silence.

She finds it comforting and peaceful, and although they haven’t known each other for very long, she’s surprised by how _close_ she feels to him.

They can talk about anything, finding it rather easy to open up to one another. They share a mutual affinity for the simple things in life, joking about how they were born in the wrong time and are a hopeless pair of ‘old souls’. But what she loves most about their dynamic is deeply rooted in what beats beneath her chest.

Annie comes to realize that meeting Eren is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

He respects her, he understands her, he listens to her…

The things he shares with her often inspire deep reflection, offering her a new perspective or outlook on several aspects of her own life. Most people might think it’s outlandish or consider his tenacity too radical, but Annie is taken by his determination and his spirit.

He’s driven by a well-structured sense of purpose, and she respects him for that.

She _admires_ him for that.

They watch as the sun’s rays beam across the ocean’s waves, the water glistening a dreamy turquoise. The clouds dissipate like smoke, clearing for the promise of a beautiful day ahead.

Annie can’t think of a better way to start her morning.

Eren leans back, folding his arms across his chest when his thoughts reveal themselves in a faint whisper.

“Who would ever want to leave this place?” he muses, not expecting an answer.

Annie waits, allowing for his words to linger for a moment.

“Maybe,” she begins quietly, “some people want _more_.”

Eren turns to looks at her, pondering. “More than what?”

“More than what this small town can offer them,” she replies. She gives him a cursory glance and looks back at Stohess Beach below, nestled calmly in the low valley where the terrain meets the water.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never fantasized about moving to the city, dazzled by skyscrapers and a more modernized way of living. Plenty of young and spry hopefuls are drawn to the hustle and bustle along the streets of downtown boulevards, the sounds of busy intersections, and the prospect of making dreams become reality.

_Except, all that glitters is not gold._

Growing up in a small town had its ups and downs no doubt, but over the years, as she’s matured and moved on from her childish ways of thinking, Annie accepts that she can completely and wholeheartedly harmonize with Eren’s point of view.

It’s one of the main reasons she hates that she’s had to leave in the past- and she dreads having to leave again soon.

‘Leaving the nest’, as her father puts it, had been hard on Annie from the start. Alongside a plethora of sentimental tendencies, the worst part of it all was the inevitable separation from her friends- and maintaining long distance relationships of any kind is the absolute worst.

(Never mind the fact that she’s deprived of free ice cream when she’s several hours away in a less-than-cozy dorm.)

It saddens her that her separation from Eren is unavoidable. He had moved to Stohess Beach with the intention of settling down and making a life for himself.

But Annie wasn’t offered the same opportunity; she had convinced herself she had no future in Stohess Beach, and that she needed to leave to obtain a decent education and _find herself_.

_Oh god…_

She doesn’t want to dwell on it anymore. It hurts to think about it.

“Some people are too materialistic,” Eren says without exemption. “This place has everything you could ever want.”

Annie perks her head up, encouraging him to go on.

“Thing is, I’ve been to lots of different places,” he explains. “My dad and I were always on the move because of his job so we’ve never really settled in one place. As a kid I thought that’s what I wanted. To see the outside world and explore.”

“That sounds kinda nice,” Annie says softly. “I bet you’ve seen a lot.”

“It was… and I have,” Eren replies. “But… _now_ … what I really want is to have a place I can call home.”

Annie merely blinks in response, empathetic.

“And _this_ ,” he stands up from the hood of the car, arms stretched outward like he’s embracing the air around him, “this feels like home.”

Annie’s gaze falls to Stohess Beach below, closing her eyes as she finds solace in the breeze that’s come to encircle them in fluttering patterns, capturing this moment intimately.

When she opens her eyes, she’s met with clearer, bluer skies.

The sky seems bigger when it’s not caught in smog filled clouds or competing with urban skylines and massive buildings.

The city-life wouldn’t suit her; not when she’s been spoiled with such wondrous sights.

“Annie…”

She blinks once more. She prepares herself.

“Yeah?”

Eren’s smiling, but he looks… sad. Worried, even.

“You’ll come back, right? At least to visit?” The words, ‘ _for me’_ , seem to hang in the air, but are repressed.

Annie’s unsure how to respond at first. Obviously, yes, she’ll be back to visit and ensure her father’s well-being. She always looks forward to reuniting with her gal pals as well. But she mulls over a newfound understanding.

She thinks maybe… now… she has another reason to return to her hometown.

And that reason is standing right in front of her, enough to solidify her decision.

“Of course,” she finally replies, her smile waning. “Truth is, I never could stay away for too long. I always end up back in this town for one reason or another.”

“Maybe Stohess Beach is trying to tell you something,” Eren quips. “Like it’s fate… or something.”

“Saying I belong here?” Annie smirks.

Eren shakes his head, chuckling dryly. “Everything happens for a reason. A reason for you to return. A reason for you to leave…” He’s intercepted before he can finish.

“A reason we met?”

Eren pauses as her words incite a spike in tension, his face flushing a faint red.

He barely manages to bring himself to speak up, though his voice is low and cautious.

“Well…” he drawls. “We can’t exactly chalk that up to just _luck_ , now can we?”

Annie’s hard to read expression morphs into a half-smile, but she’s afraid it could possibly convey a hint of dejection, knowing that neither can promise the other anything.

There are no guarantees in life. Sometimes you have to be willing to take risks. Sometimes all you can do is hope for the best.

Annie decides she’s willing to open herself up and take a chance. Just this once.

Standing up from the hood of the Mustang, she slowly makes her way to the green-eyed brunet, establishing herself less than a foot away from him.

“Kind of makes it less romantic, doesn’t it?” she whispers teasingly.

“Actually,” Eren snickers, leaning in just a touch, “the ice cream stain on your apron was the real mood killer when we first met.”

“Just admit that you wanted to kiss me the moment you walked into the shop,” Annie retorts, “and I’ll forget you ever said that and spare you a merciless ass-kicking.”

And it happens.

Eren closes the tiny gap between them and kisses her.

It’s only a small peck, short, sweet, to the point, but it leaves her blushing like crazy all the same.

“You don’t have to resort to threats to get me to kiss you, Annie,” Eren says as he pulls away.

Alas, his mouth doesn’t get very far from hers. Their lips are joined together again, bound in a slow, deep kiss.

_This must be what it feels like…_

 

Annie feels… _like she’s home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eren and Annie are too precious!


	10. July - Mikasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ackerbabes are classy as always in this installment.

She’s sauntering curiously about the gallery in his absence, silently admiring his work as she waits for prospective clients to enquire within.

Levi’s gallery is minimalist and serene, his theme an overall simple one of warm lighting fixtures and pristine white walls. Samples of his photography hang in display, each accompanied by small descriptions engraved on metal tiles below.  

Mikasa’s light footsteps echo gently on the glossy hardwood floors, the clicking of her heels resonating throughout the room in a way that adds to the percussive melody of quietness.

Though her job as Levi’s assistant is a far cry from working at the beach club, she admittedly prefers the art gallery and its calm setting. The usual workday consists of greeting guests and answering any questions they may have, tracking daily attendance, filing appropriate paperwork, and overall maintenance of the gallery space to keep up its ‘curb appeal’ so to speak.

On the slower days, Mikasa indulges herself a bit and walks around, studying each piece as a means of getting to know Levi’s style on a more personal level.

One photograph across the room suddenly catches her eye, standing out sharply from the others she’d previously observed. She’s baffled at the mere thought of having overlooked this one, though its seclusion to a rather dismissive corner is to blame.

Upon even closer inspection, _this one_ in particular instantly becomes her favorite.

Curious and thought-provoking, the image frames a ravishing view of humble countryside, emphasizing a tiny barn burrowed in fields of tall grass. It appears to have been taken during the blue hour, and she recognizes the use of a slow shutter speed. Visible stars in the sky drag along the backdrop in a linear glow, creating luminous streaks that complement the dreary evocation of emotions within.

It reminds her of her early childhood days. Her parents had been humble farmers in a neighboring town, the fertile earth nestled within the valley providing them with rich abundance each harvest season.

Mikasa will always be thankful to have been raised in Stohess Beach, but there are times when she wonders how her life would have turned out had she and her family remained secluded to their small homestead, living off the land in simpler conditions.

The tranquil imagery the rolling hills and lowland ridges have to offer would have ignited some sort of artistic inspiration, she reasons, convincing herself she would have taken an interest in the art of photography one way or another.

The fleeting period of reflection shifts to a brief contemplation over her future.

Her family encourages her to follow one path, but her heart yearns for something more.

_If only…_ she thinks, brooding, _there was an easy way to tell them…and if only… they could understand…_

Mikasa finds herself torn between fulfilling certain obligations for her parent’s sake and pursuing her dreams… her _passions_.

Sighing, she shrugs and moves on to organizing a few spreadsheets in a small room toward the back that serves as an office of sorts. Levi keeps everything in an already neat and orderly fashion, therefore minimizing her workload in his office to a rather small degree.

Finished making a few minor adjustments, Mikasa retreats to her usual post near the front entrance and waits.

It takes her a moment to realize she’s not waiting for guests or potential clientele, nor is she waiting for the spontaneous arrival of her friends for that matter.

In actuality, she’s waiting for Levi.

Waiting for his arrival so she can pry into more about the early beginnings of his career, about the story behind each shot he’s taken in the gallery, about what truly inspired him to pick up a camera in the first place.

And about what exactly it is he sees in her.

Hopefully this time, however, she’ll have finally gained the courage to ask.

By the time Levi does show up, Mikasa has yet to finalize her decision, let alone devise a plan to work her way around asking without coming off as intrusive or overbearing.

Levi appears to be a man on a mission, walking inside the gallery at a moderate pace as he makes a beeline for his office.

“Mikasa.” He acknowledges her with a nod. “How did it go today?”

She bides her time, assuming professionalism as she follows him to his office. “It went well,” comes her response, watching as he sifts through few various equipment. “Several people were interested in buying. I referred them to our sizing and pricing, took down their information, and let them know we would be contacting them soon.”

Absentmindedly, she continues explaining the nuanced details in regards to the day’s attendance; continues _rambling_ rather.

Levi waits until she’s finished providing a full report, and then, in a well-meaning tone, he asks, “And what about you?”

Mikasa bites her lip. “What _about_ me?”

Levi reaches for his Nikon D600 and smirks. She’s missed the point completely. “When I first asked you to take on this position, I knew you’d have no trouble adapting to a different work environment than what you’re used to,” he clarifies. “But I’d like to hear what _your_ thoughts are.”

_My thoughts?_ Mikasa folds her arms across her chest.

“I do my best to ensure my employees are happy,” Levi concludes.

Mikasa notices he’s stopped what he’s doing, giving her his full attention.

“Honestly,” she begins, choosing her next words with tact, “I love being here.”

Levi eyes her with approval. “This sort of thing is up your alley,” he comments matter-of-factly. “I appreciate you helping out with tedious tasks around here, _but_ , I think you’re better suited to work behind the camera.” When he doesn’t get a reply from the young woman before him, he presses the matter further. “Isn’t that what you’d rather be doing?”

Of course it’s what she wants to do. To build up a portfolio. To strive for a prospective career. To share her work with others. To offer her view on the world around her with the simple flick of a button.

She wants nothing more than to capture life’s most beautiful moments; her one true escape.

Levi is able to find the beauty in something as simple as a feeble barn house, a single ray of light beaming over a dying fir tree, or a lost ribbon in the wind; the saturation of its colors conflicting with sepia tones in the background.

Mikasa wonders if she’s capable of the same.

“I don’t know.” She elects to answer evasively, mentally exhausted from thinking too heavily about _what could be_. For now, she has to face reality, and as it stands, her reality mirrors that of an anxious pre-med student; one who’s precariously uncertain about her future. “A lot of people can still be passionate about something. Even if it is only a hobby.”

Levi considers her reply, noting her usage of the term ‘hobby’ in place of something connoting security or stability. “That’s one way to look at it,” he says. “But I think some people make the mistake of limiting themselves. There’s been plenty of people I’ve met over the years with an absurd amount of talent- and yet they squander it, wasting their days away working a job they hate because they settled for ‘the safe option’ rather than their own happiness.”

_Well, people can’t rely on mere ‘happiness’ to pay the bills_ , Mikasa thinks in utter cynicism. “That’s reality for most.” _Hopeless as it may seem._

Levi shakes his head in disagreement. “Not for me,” he asserts. “I wasn’t going to settle for a boring desk job, working business hours Monday to Friday. So I chose to do something about it.” He looks up at her, analyzing the look of uncertainty she’s giving him. “You have to be willing to take risks, Mikasa. You’ll never know what you’re capable of if you never try.”

_You’ll never know… if you never try._

She lets his words sink in, consuming her entirely. Her shoulders tense up a bit as she’s unable to formulate the right words in response. She’d like to take his advice to heart, but she’s hesitant.

It’s all she can do to say his name. “Levi…”

She desperately wants to ask him why he wastes his time with attempts at nurturing what she’s forced herself to accept could only ever be a measly pastime.

Or why he wastes his time with her at all.

Levi interjects, a look of resolve claiming his face. “Hold that thought for one moment,” he implores, turning his back to her. He begins rummaging through old equipment in a collection of boxes yet to be tampered with. His movements are cautious, handling each and every item he comes across with care. Before long, he finds the alluded object.

He hopes at the very least the gesture will inspire her to heed his advice.

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” He presents a Nikon S2, paired with a 35mm rangefinder that gives it a vintage look. Mikasa already looks lovelorn over its classic design and top-notch condition. “You can borrow this for the summer,” he continues. “Take it when you’re out with friends, out on the road- anywhere you go," he says. "Don't second guess yourself. If something strikes even a semblance of inspiration, _take the shot_.”

Accepting the camera from his hands, Mikasa’s eyes light up in pure amazement.

She can already envision the unfathomable amount of possibilities.

_But first thing’s first…_

Looking back up, she ceases any further entertaining of thoughts to finalize the proposition. “What’s the catch?” she asks tentatively.

Levi’s expression remains solemn, though his gaze seems to have softened at her query. “The catch?” He rubs his chin. “Only that you’ll give it back, of course. That includes the film.”

_So… he’ll want to see my shots?_ she thinks with a grin. _Fair enough._

Agreeing to his terms, Mikasa nods. “Deal.”

Had it not been for the sudden surge in confidence, Mikasa might have simply said her goodbyes then and there, pivoting on her heel with a polite smile before heading home; done for the day.

Except, she has a proposition of her own- and she’s willing to utilize this opportunity as a means of taking chances.

More importantly, she’s also willing to trust him.

“Can I ask you something in return?” she conjures from the arousal of efficacy. “While we’re on the subject and all.”

Levi nods, patient. Prepared.

“The next time you go out on a photo excursion,” Mikasa begins, “I'd like to go with you.”

Levi doesn’t question her reasoning. He senses that his gesture has successfully ignited a spark; enough to influence the young aspiring artist to challenge herself.

What hits him hard on a more personal level, however, is that he can’t help but see what’s been clear from the moment they first met.

He sees himself in her; taken back to a time when he’d been labeled a ‘starving artist,’ with no one to help guide him or steer him in the right direction.

Levi takes it upon himself to ensure that she’ll have the proper guidance.

So long as it’s what she _really_ wants.

Mikasa’s determination is further punctuated through her expressive demeanor, persuading Levi to reciprocate the trust she’s put in him.

Adhering to his conviction, Levi complies with her request.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! That's it for the July ficlets! August will conclude the series! Stay tuned! ;)


	11. August - A Sonata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, right? :D  
> And... it's still technically summer...  
> *sweats nervously*  
> :D

“Here’s to one month of summer left.”

Four glasses of ginger ale are raised in the air.

_Cheers._

No one is excited.

Especially when the realization suddenly dawns on them all at once.

The transition to autumn will put an end to these delightful shenanigans.

An end to warm and sunny days. To lounging around the beach. To late-night chats and even later snacking sessions. To spending quality time with close friends.

Ymir is unsure how she’ll survive without the wistful feeling of sand between her toes. Without the all-embracing view of the ocean greeting her in the morning at sunrise, and then wishing her farewell in the evening as the moon ascends to take its place in the sky, its light spilling over crashing waves. Worse yet, she’ll have to go without working within walking distance to the Leonhart’s ice cream shop.

She’ll have to swap her lifeguard attire, her favorite pair of shorts, and tank tops for sweaters, jeans, and beanies.

She’ll have to say goodbye to her friends, her parents… and even Bertolt.

It bothers her more than she’d like to admit.

Annie deals with the dreadful notion of returning to school by simply ignoring it. Regardless of whether or not she’s emotionally prepared, the departure from Stohess Beach never gets any easier. Leaving her father all alone in their small two-bedroom house is what saddens her the most.

And then there’s the fact that she’ll have to say goodbye to Eren.

She’s not quite ready for the painful inevitability; expecting to feel as though her heart’s been ripped out of her chest.

Mikasa thinks on a slightly more positive note than her cohorts. She reasons with herself that the new school year will go by fast, they’ll be able to keep in touch and get together again over the holidays, and she finally, _freaking finally_ , gets to live in an apartment this year rather than the crowded dorms. Initially, her thoughts remain optimistic and hopeful- until she remembers an inconvenient truth (or _truths_ , rather).

She’s contemplating changing her major- to something completely unrelated to her current field of study. She’ll be living in her apartment by herself, which could potentially get lonely after the ‘independent glamour’ wears off. _And_ keeping in touch with people over long distance is a real pain in the ass because nothing beats the real thing!

On top of all that, she’ll no longer be employed by one of the nation’s top photographers.

Mikasa has thought about _maybe_ sharing her concerns with Levi. He’s a good listener and she can count on him to offer both well-thought and well-meaning advice.

She’s going to miss his mentorship… and she’s unsure how to properly cope with the imminent feeling of loss and emptiness.

Pieck is far too relaxed about going back to school, though her friends are hardly surprised. The girl is naturally astute, her formidable intelligence only further encouraging her lazy habits. While some of her classmates may stay up into the early hours of the morning, studying their asses off for weeks on end in hopes of attaining a passing grade on an upcoming exam, Pieck spends the same amount of time sleeping and watching cat videos. She’s _that_ student; the laidback student who maybe shuffled through the textbook once or twice, latched onto the information after taking half-assed notes during lecture, processed it successfully, studied an hour at most and _still_ managed to ace the exam with the top score.

The paradox has ultimately landed Pieck at the top of Marley University’s Most Wanted List. (Crime: Fucking up the curve in every class she’s enrolled in!)

Nevertheless, she too finds herself becoming increasingly despondent as of late. Mikasa, the ‘mom friend’, won’t be around to kick her butt into gear when she’s seeping too deep into _lazytown_ , while simultaneously ensuring she’s received proper TLC. Ymir, the older sister figure, won’t be there to make her laugh at stupid random shit, or lift her spirits when she’s feeling down. Annie, the first friend she ever had, will be too far away to share enormous tubs of ice cream with while staying up to watch reruns of _Giligan’s Island_.

Aside from that, she’d rather not be reminded that she’ll also be deprived of messing with Pock.

 _And_ deprived of all the piggy-back rides.

It sucks.

_“Here’s to one month of summer left…”_

Translation: _“We’re screwed.”_

The four lovely ladies are convened around cheap patio furniture in the backyard of Pieck’s family home. There’s two palm trees, one taller than the other by several feet, but the disparity hasn’t prevented Pieck from setting up a hammock.

Aside from the usual backyard amenities, Pieck’s family have also invested in a pool, complete with lights and heating features. It’s decently maintained, emits heavy traces of chlorine, and encompasses some of the fondest memories of her childhood.

Every birthday party growing up was a pool party.

Every drunken escapade in high school with her buddies _turned into_ a pool party.

She and the gal squad had gone skinny dipping here so many times, she’s long since lost count.

Now, it serves as a mere reminder of the past; a literal pool of memories.

Pieck has her eyes locked on the small ripples swirling and curving into small waves, watching them roll gently over one another in a calm melody.

The water seems enticingly inviting…

“So the ‘End of Summer Luau’ will be held at the beach club this year.” Mikasa’s announcement breaks the enduring silence. “We still on for the usual plan?”

Annie finishes off her ginger ale, nodding. “We’ll meet up at my house an hour before the party starts.”

“Right…” Ymir drawls, interjecting with a friendly reminder. “And before any of you ask, the answer is ‘no.’ I don’t need my hair or makeup done.”

“We’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer this time around,” Pieck cautions, rather casual. “In fact, we’re going to have fun taking our time with you.”

“ _That_ … can be misinterpreted in _so_ many naughty ways…” Ymir blurts out.

“Come on, Ymir,” Mikasa sighs, simultaneously questioning why she’s even wasting her time soliciting underwhelming pleas. After all, Ymir had never really been one to experiment with makeup or mix up her wardrobe with flirty little sundresses.

Granted, Ymir is a natural beauty, often fawned over for her freckles and evenly tanned skin.

Her style just so happens to be a bit more… neutral.

Unlike Mikasa, however, Annie wants to spruce up the tallest of the group for comedy more than anything else.

“Your boy Hoover might fancy something low-cut or provocative,” the blonde deadpans.

Ymir’s eye roll would make even the most illustrious satellite envious. Contrary to Annie’s taunt, Bertolt had made it clear from the start that he liked Ymir for who she was.

 _‘What you see is what you get’_ best sums up the outlook many people have in regards to her personality.

However, it’s always nice to hear Bertolt's compliments, especially when they pertain to her physical appearance. She thinks it’s sweet that he has a thing for her golden brown eyes.

Needless to say, the attraction between them would remain solid; albeit, painstakingly riddled with hints of sexual tension, but solid nonetheless!

Therefore, Ymir is dead-set on attending the popular small town fiesta dressed however she damn well pleases.

“Welp,” Ymir begins, leaning back into her lawn chair, “it won’t really matter what I’m wearing, especially if the clothes just end up coming off that night.”

“Wow,” the others drone in unison.

“Already thinking about that?” Annie huffs, contemplating whether or not she should be all that shocked.

Ymir shrugs. “It’ll be like one last ‘hoorah’ before we go our separate ways.”

Mikasa gives her an empathetic look, mulling over the disarmingly ‘might as well’ concept.

She’s able to see right through the hardened front Ymir is putting up, like fortified walls to guard her pent-up emotions. The freckled lifeguard is desperately trying to make it appear as though she’s accepting of the circumstances; like it’s not a big deal.

But in actuality, a part of her is hurting.

Mikasa decides not to address the issue, subsequently distracted by the rustling of Pieck’s chair.

“Anyone want any more ginger ale?” Pieck asks, sauntering over to a nearby cooler.

The response to the hostess’s question consists of three heads shaking; a collective ‘no thanks’ following suit.

Pieck helps herself to another can of soda, perfectly fine with drinking alone. When she turns around, she finds herself curious by the sight of Ymir rising from her seat.

Much to Mikasa and Annie’s intrigue as well, Ymir moseys on over to the pool, eyeing it with feverish intent as she relieves herself of her shirt.

“I feel like going for a little late-night dip,” she says after removing her shorts. “Anyone want to join me?”

Standing at the edge of the pool in a two-piece bathing suit, she turns back to her friends once more and winks before commencing an elegant swan dive.

 _Showoff_ , Annie thinks, slightly humored.

When she surfaces from the water below, she can’t help but laugh. “Water’s fine,” she alerts them, her tone challenging and persuasive.

Pieck doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” she says, heading inside the house. “Gonna go put my swimsuit on.”

Annie and Mikasa exchange looks, both tentative.

“Had I known we’d end up in the pool I would’ve come a little more… prepared,” Mikasa divulges.

Annie peers below at her own chest, unsure if her bra and panties underneath would sufficiently constitute as secondary swim wear.

“I’m with Ackerman,” Annie asserts in opposition. “You and Pieck can splash around without us.”

Ymir huffs disdainfully, thoroughly disappointed. “Pffttt. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I was gonna challenge you two to a friendly little game of _chicken_.”

Mikasa arches a brow, eyeballing Ymir in sheer perplexity. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant or anything…” she begins, sitting up a little straighter. “But Annie and I would utterly destroy you and Pieck.”

Ymir scoffs at the subtle threat, but internally succumbs to the foreseeable truth. “Fine. Then we’ll level the playing field,” she replies. “Me and Annie versus you and Pieck.”

Annie’s about to decline for the second time, but then suddenly envisions a wide-eyed Eren egging her on and telling her to just go for it. There’s no doubt in her mind that if he were there, he’d encourage her to lighten up a little.

There wouldn’t be a whole lot of summers left like this one.

_You’re only young once._

Great, now she feels old.

So, Annie gives in and begins undressing.

“Fuck it,” she says aloud, tossing her t-shirt aside. “I’m in.”

While the blonde’s in mid-stretch, Pieck abruptly appears from behind, clad in a blue one-piece.

Dashing in a linear trajectory, Pieck hurls herself forward upon reaching the edge of the pool and performs the most graceful cannonball in history, splashing heaps of water on Annie and Mikasa.

“WOOT WOOT!” Ymir hollers, encircling both arms around her precious companion. “That was kind of hot, _Pieckachu_. You ever use that move to seduce Porco?”

Pieck toils with her drenched locks, using the hair-tie on her wrist to pull it up into a messy bun as best she can. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she says innocently.

“Oh, you precious little maiden,” Ymir coos. With a sigh she adds, “The guy’s had the hots for you since like… forever.”

Pieck ignores the last part of her comment, plunging herself below in mysterious mermaid-like fashion.

“If that’s the case,” Annie chimes in, “then he really sucks at showing it.” The blonde opts to enter the pool using the staircase on the side, believing her entrance to be a bit classier than her rowdy counterparts.

Mikasa peers down at her soaked top, figuring that’s a good enough cue for her to have a change of heart. She’s just grateful she threw on a sports bra earlier in the day, as opposed to the lacy demi bra hugging Annie’s chest.

The sporty material ought to give her an advantage in that aspect.

(She’s trying to be optimistic here.)

“All right then.” The young Ackerman strips down to her skivvies, having lost the will to put up any resistance. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” she mutters under her breath.

“Yeahhhh!” Ymir cheers, welcoming Mikasa’s arrival. “Take it off, Mika!”

It’s not long before Mikasa dives into the pool, joining the rest of the gang to finally initiate a fierce battle of chicken.

Annie judges Mikasa’s dive, perhaps a tad harsh with her assessment. “Six out of ten, Ackerman.”

Positioning herself next to Pieck, Mikasa takes the high road and offers good sportsmanship in lieu of catty trash talk.

The exchange is lost on Pieck, who’d been unintentionally left out of the loop as a result of her brief absence when she’d gone to change into her swimsuit. It makes no difference to her, however, given that she likes surprises.

“What are we doing?” she asks, seemingly excited by the countless possibilities swirling about her head.

Mikasa swims alongside her to one end of the pool, as Annie and Ymir swim to the other.

“We’re gonna take them down in a chicken fight,” she replies confidently, instructing Pieck to climb atop her shoulders. “Hop on, my little piggyback ride enthusiast.”

_We’ll need your brains to face off against their brawn._

Pieck does as she’s told, mindful of her placement. Thanks to her god-given strength, Mikasa is able to carry the tiny ravenette _and_ maintain full functionality, exerting minimal effort.

Pieck eventually gives Mikasa a nod, ready to charge head on.

In a different setting, Annie has already lifted herself upon Ymir’s shoulders, all set for battle.

“Ready whenever you are,” Ymir calls out to their opponents, exhilaration coursing through her veins.

Briefly strategizing an attack of sorts, Mikasa makes the first move forward, her vision roaming over the battlefield the way a hawk would survey a prairie for prey.

Ymir slowly wades through the pool, balancing Annie above while initiating a tactful approach to their impending encounter with the enemy.

 _This should be a piece of cake_ , she thinks.

Pieck watches Annie with a studious gaze, one that’s rather hard to read.

Annie can only assume she’s looking for an opening to catch her off guard.

 _Ambush_ is the only technique she can use against the blonde’s powerful and swift movements.

Mikasa isn’t slowing her pace down, forcing Ymir to match her ferocity with equal intensity, nearing the center of the pool with increasingly aggressive strides.

When they finally meet in the middle, Pieck and Annie clash in a blaze of glory, arms converging in what starts off as a strength match.

At first, Annie can feel herself overpowering Pieck, but then struggles to decisively take her and Mikasa down. Pieck has limited Annie’s mobility by interlocking her wrists in a rigid motion. The tactic has depleted Annie’s strength by a whopping fifty percent- according to Pieck’s calculations anyway.

“We’ll have to switch to Plan B, Ymir,” Annie commands, gritting her teeth.

Ymir has no idea what that is.

They hadn’t even stopped to think a Plan B was necessary beforehand, blinded by their own cockiness.

The freckled lifeguard is about to ask ‘ _what the hell is Plan B?_ ’ when the heated match is suddenly interrupted by curious onlookers from over the fence next door.

“Having a pool party without us?”

“Thanks for the invite!”

Marcel and Reiner’s timing is impeccable.

Their unexpected presence throws both Annie and Pieck’s concentration out of whack, causing them to lose focus and fall back into the pool practically in unison.

“Wha-”

“We’re going down!”

Ymir clumsily topples over with Annie’s fall, limbs flailing in all directions. Mikasa on the other hand is able to brace herself for Pieck’s fateful demise just in time.

Marcel and Reiner snicker away, still cackling like hyenas once they’ve hopped the fence. Inviting themselves aboard, they bear no shame in crashing what appears to be a ‘ladies only’ party.

After coming up for air, the four gal pals circle together in the pool, giving the intruders a collective round of ‘go away’ and ‘no boys allowed.’

All of which is ignored.

“Nice _swimsuit_ , Annie,” Reiner taunts, much to the ire of the petite blonde.

“Braun, what the fuck,” is all Annie has the patience to retort with. She doesn’t even bother covering her chest, convinced Reiner is unable to fully make out the details of her bra with the water serving as an effective barrier of sorts.

Ymir swims a bit closer to the edge where the two boys are standing, smirking passively. “Spying on us helpless, half-naked ladies this late at night?” she quips. “That’s funny. I didn’t think you were all that into girls, Reiner.”

Reiner dismisses the laughs surrounding him, solely focused on the freckled figure. “Sure, and I didn’t think you were all that interested in guys… and yet you and Bertolt seem to be getting along all right.”

Ymir splashes him unapologetically, rolling her eyes. “Sexuality is fluid, yo.”

Reiner raises his hands up in the air, looking down at his splashed shirt. Smirking idiotically, he pulls it up over his head and roars into the night like a wild animal, all the while flexing his muscles.

“You got me all wet,” he grunts, leveling himself to dive in. “In that case…”

_*Splash*_

“Ughhh,” Pieck groans, realizing she could end up cleaning the pool every day for the next week if they’re caught causing a ruckus.

She stops caring when Marcel follows Reiner’s lead and cannonballs off the diving board, having ditched his shirt as well.

“ _Now_ we’re having a party,” Reiner hoots after completely immersing himself in the water. In mid-reach for a floatie he continues to indulge in shameless flattery- of himself. “You guys must have been so bored without us.”

Marcel reaches for another floatie and throws it at the mighty blond, hitting him square in the face.

“Hey!” Reiner laughs, lunging forward. “Real dick move, Marcel.”

Ymir blinks emptily several times and then proceeds to narrate the sight ahead. “This party just turned super gaaaaaaaay,” she announces, cupping her hands above her mouth to help carry the call further out.

Annie yawns, merely wading in the pool as boredom consumes her.

Mikasa flips over and stays afloat on her back, trying to block out the idiocy spewing from the boys present.

That’s when Pieck comes up with a suggestion to save the day.

“Why don’t we resume our chicken fight?” she muses. “Reiner and Marcel can be the third team. It’ll be like a free-for-all.”

Reiner and Marcel stop messing around like the totally heterosexual guys they are and freeze, too stunned to reply.

“Uhhhhhhh…”

Ymir takes an instant liking to the idea. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”

Like her teammate, Annie is completely on board. “I’m game,” she consents, cracking her knuckles.

Mikasa positions herself upright again and nods in agreement, shooting Marcel and Reiner a hardline glare. “This should be fun.”

Reiner and Marcel cower in fear, immensely terrified as the girls inch closer and closer their way, like a swarm of sharks closing in on two defenseless minnows.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT._

In desperation, Marcel hurriedly scrambles to get atop Reiner’s shoulders, alternating his panicked state between internal shrieking and… _ex_ ternal shrieking.

_Why are girls so terrifying?_

“Look alive, Marcel,” Reiner tells him, feigning confidence as best he can, his voice cracking. “We… we can handle this.”

Annie and Ymir are ready to throw down. Pieck and Mikasa prepare for all-out war.

They hold off to keep the boys in an agonizing suspense, reveling in the sadistic pleasure of watching them suffer.

The party-crashers’ suffering will increase astronomically when the skirmish finally begins.

Before the ass-kicking commences, Annie pauses to reflect on a previous thought.

There will eventually come a time when these days will be nothing more than a distant memory. They’ll all go their separate ways, move on with their lives, and maybe even forget about most of the shenanigans that went down when summer neared its end.

Before it gets to that point, however, she reasons with herself that at least she’ll have something to hold on to when she’s away; something to help her cope with her less-than-exciting life as a college student.

Until then, she’s thrilled to teach Reiner and Marcel a lesson, her best friends aiding and abetting in all the mischief.

 

_Oh sweet, sweet summer…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've got about four ficlets left and then the finale!  
> EEeeek! Stay tuned!!!


	12. August - Pieck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I loved writing this one.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback, guys! You're amazing and I luv you all! :) I'm kinda bummed this will be ending soon, but I'm enjoying it while it lasts! lol

She's not around when he finally regains some semblance of clarity, like a stream of light piercing through his formerly clouded judgment.

Pieck has the day off, rendering Porco Galliard to tend to the surf shop for his usual closing shift alone. At the end of the night, he retreats to the breakroom one last time to retrieve a few items from his locker.

His mind is blank as he narrows on the task at hand, but it's when he least expects it that the sudden profusion of insight staggers him with a single glance.

The spark is ignited when he notices something out of the corner of his eye.

Pieck's locker is slightly ajar, the prospect practically an inviting one. Rather than shutting it for her like he supposes he ought to do, Pock concedes to the persistent emergence of curiosity sprouting from seemingly out of nowhere, and finds himself taking a look inside.

There's a bag of chips (as expected), a friendship bracelet from Ymir,  _and_ … a picture.

It's tucked away in quite the disorderly manner, but its position suggests that it had been stowed away only recently. Even in the dullness of the lockers interior, Pock is able to make out the two figures posing in the photo. At first, it's hard for him to believe; takes a moment to fully register. His shoulders tense up and the weight of bearing the inexplicable rise of incredulity feels like a million tons.

In absentminded intrigue, Pock pulls the glossy photo print out, the movement of his hands slow and steady. When it comes to light, he can instantly recall the exact moment from when it was taken.

The image captures a young Pieck and Pock, both around eleven at the time, on the day he and his team had won the little league tournament. Their arms are slung over one another, wide smiles adorning their faces.

Maybe that's why Pieck had asked him what movie they'd been watching that day. It's obvious she'd pondered the details to the photographs setting, anyway.

Pock wonders why she's been holding onto this picture after all this time, and why she's keeping it among some of her most prized possessions. (Seriously, for something as trivial as one measly outdated photograph to be amongst both her favorite brand of chips  _and_  the freaking friendship bracelet from Ymir is not to be taken lightly.)

Having come up with nothing, his mind moves on to the movie they'd been watching that day, his memory ultimately failing him.

Letting out a deep breath, Pock loosens his grip on the photo and half-smiles.

 _You're killin' me, Pieck_ , he thinks.

And  _that's_  when it dawns on him, like an ephemeral enlightenment.

" _You're killin' me, smalls!"_

The Sandlot.

_That was the one!_

He's sure of it.

The reminiscences all come flooding back to him, his once hardened composure letting up to the wistful nostalgia of it all.

Friends since they were kids, Pock mulls over the past introspectively. Over the personal sentiments they'd shared with one another. Over how much he truly values their friendship… but with deepened connotation.

They'd grown up together; sequestered to the same small town, same neighborhood, same schools, same group of friends…

Their families had always gotten along swimmingly, visiting each other's homes on frequent occasions for potlucks or holiday gatherings.

She'd been there at his baseball games to cheer him on. He in turn helped with her book club fundraising events. (Never had he ever been more bored in his life, but she always asked him so nicely.)

Throughout all of middle school and high school she'd often help him with gruesome math homework, serving as his own personal tutor of sorts in algebra and geometry… and stats… and precal… and calculus…

He would buy her snacks as a token of his appreciation.

She was there when his beloved dog, Zeke, died. He comforted her when her cat, Dina, passed away.

That was the only time he'd ever seen her cry, and the only time he'd ever held her hand.

She helped keep the peace between him and Marcel when they were kids, and now she helps keep the peace between him and Reiner when the need calls for it.

As the teenage years encroached upon them, he and Pieck drifted apart for a while, though she never held that against him.

For she had promised she would always be there if he ever needed her. No matter what. (Even  _pinky_  promised him.)

And after all these years, the austere Porco Galliard finally realizes it.

He's always had feelings for Pieck… and he's ready to act on them.

_Pieck…_

He suddenly feels an adrenaline rush, his heart lurching from his chest. He's unsure where exactly the need originates from, but he firmly believes the only way to effectively rectify the past errors of his ways begins with bolting out of the shop-

And then head straight to her house.

He wants to see her. Now.

His urgency only further intensifies when he remembers she'll be leaving for school again soon.

_Damn, the timing couldn't be any more inconvenient._

But fuck it.

After slamming both lockers shut, Pock darts out of the breakroom, implementing faster and swifter steps. He's still moving in earnest even after he's locked the place up and headed down the boulevard, yet when he nears the familiar residential neighborhood, he's adamant that he's not going fast enough.

He accelerates his pace, commencing a determined sprint along the sidewalk, bringing him closer and closer to his destination.

 _I have to see her._   _I have to tell her tonight._

* * *

Pieck hasn't finished packing her things in preparation for the new school year ahead, but she's in no rush. She won't be leaving for another three weeks and therefore procrastination sinks in, coaxing her to put it off as long as she can. (Much to her parent's chagrin.)

Although she's always had a more relaxed outlook on things, never one to wallow away in the convoluted mess of worrisome emotions, she'd rather avoid the matter for now. It sucks to be reminded that she'll have to leave again soon. That this summer really  _is_  coming to an end.

Lounging lazily atop a plush mattress, she gazes pensively around her room while internally sifting through the fondest of memories past summer experiences have given her over long but generous years.

She can recall nearly every sleepover that took place here. The best ones were when all four members of the established gal squad were gathered together.

Ymir liked engaging in fierce pillow fights. Annie enjoyed braiding hair and prank-calling people for funsies. Mikasa was always down for romantic comedies, but kept it balanced with the occasional slasher film.

Pieck was grateful for quality girl's nights.

She can practically hear Cyndi Lauper now, firing away with ' _Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun_ '.

She's been humming the iconic '80s tune all day, and somehow it's fitting.

Eliciting a faint sigh, her gaze settles on the wooden desk across the room. The change in scenery prompts her to recall a few study sessions she had with Pock back in grade school. It was there Pock had been properly introduced to the pythagorean theorem, to finding derivatives, and to solving differential equations.

And as expected, Pieck had always been exactly right.

That's what makes her the best tutor.

Smiling at the strange recollection of events, she glances up at a nearby shelf teeming with various nifty trinkets, one of them being her dearly departed cat, Dina's, collar.

She remembers a few instances where she'd locked Dina in the room with her as a means of forcing them to bond and play together.

_Oh the nostalgia._

Gone are the innocent days of her childhood and youth. Gone, but certainly not forgotten.

Before she can decide whether or not she wants to read the comic book she had borrowed from Marcel, her frivolous reverie is interrupted by a knock at the front door. Perplexed, Pieck gives the clock on her nightstand a cursory glance.

It's almost nine-thirty. A little late for guests, no?

(Who's she kidding? Her friends have shown up at all hours of the day/night countless times before, and while she could chalk that up to 'poor perception of time', it's mainly because no one cares.)

Slowly, she rises from her bed and saunters downstairs, announcing a casual "Coming!" as she makes her descencion to the first floor of the house.

When she pulls the door open, standing before her is the honest-to-god  _last_  person she expects to arrive unannounced at her porch. At  _this_  hour of all things.

"Pock…" her voice trails off, but her smile indicates his presence is welcome nonetheless.

To further her state of confusion, Pock responds with a mere three syllables; the title of a movie.

"The Sandlot," he says, his face still a bit red from the run. He's caught his breath, but the insurmountable surge in adrenaline refuses to subside in spite of the recovery. Still, he remains focused, answering before she can ask. "That was the movie we were watching that day."

Pieck blinks a few times at him, curiosity ridden beneath her half-lidded eyes.

Tilting her head, she pries. "You came here just to tell me that?" There's playful suspicion in her voice.

 _Kind of. Not exactly_ , Pock thinks.

"Well… actually…" Pock can't fully articulate the rest of his thoughts out loud, and by now he's certain his face is beaming a deeper red hue to accentuate his flustered state. "I wanted to say…"

He pauses, contemplating whether or not he should forget this ever happened and go home. Granted, he hadn't really thought the whole thing through, so it's no surprise to him that he falters in such a pivotal moment.

Except he's never been one to back down- from  _anything._

And hell, if he doesn't tell her tonight, then when?

Pieck takes note of his hesitation, though she processes it a bit differently, believing he's merely forgetful rather than unsettled.

"You missed me so much you just had to stop by and say 'hi', right?" she offers in place of his reluctance, albeit jokingly, but it intensifies Pock's apprehension.

And in a way, she's not entirely wrong.

Pock finally comes to grips with himself and realizes that admitting his feelings must be done without exemption.

His resolve suddenly proliferates when he allows himself to pander in admiring how Pieck looks in that finite moment. Her jet-black hair is down, caressing the elegant lines of her collar bone. Her lips are a soft rosy shade of pink, the sight practically torturous. The look in her eye emanates benevolence, and while she's probably looked at him this way many times before, it feels so different under these circumstances.

He's never wanted to kiss anyone more than right now.

Fuck, he's never wanted to kiss anyone  _ever,_  for that matter.

It's always been Pieck.

She's the one.

Pock is able to subdue his internal conflict by the narrowest of margins, and relents cautiously. "I might not get another chance to tell you this," he begins, lifting his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Tell me what?" Pieck gives him a tentative smile, one that suggests she's somewhat clueless.

Pock waits, and exhales before answering. "I'm… gonna miss you when you leave."

Pieck's eyes are aglow at the revelation, her entire face lighting up like she's finally figured it all out.

Her friends have always teased her about it. Marcel and Reiner have hinted at it from time to time. Even her parents have discreetly given her wordless nods of approval.

But she's always ignored it.

Now it all makes sense.

Though she'd always been fond of Pock, there were times when she would tell herself that he strictly thought of her as a friend. That there was no way he'd ever see her as anything more.

And she was fine with that.

Pock was one of the very few people she felt devoted to. Devoted to their friendship. Devoted to his well-being. Her personal attachment compelled her to always be there for him, something he appreciated even if he wasn't open about it (and even if she got on his nerves every now and then).

They'd always been close.

And it seems as though Pock wants to become  _closer;_  like he's ready to take things further.

Pieck regards his presence in a more serious light now, simultaneously remembering all the times she and Pock maybe  _could have_  taken their friendship further, but didn't out of fear of the unknown or possible rejection.

His admission seems to dispel any remaining doubt.  _This_  could be the turning point; the right time to take action.

Yet all Pieck can reply with is firm reciprocation. "I'm going to miss you, too, Pock."

The sadness in her voice is like the twist of a knife, utterly devastating him with a pain he's never felt before. He's aching for the girl in his midst, only finding solace in the softened expression she's offering as a remedy to the internal torment.

She must be able to sense his suppressed agony, as she's learned to read him pretty well over the years. No one else truly knows him like she does.

For a momentary lapse of time, nothing else is said between them, allowing for silence to intervene.

Her words are still sinking in when Pock comes to the conclusion he's through with restraining himself. He's hit with the desire to hold her close, feel her hands entwined with his. Returning his fixation to her lips, he settles with finally making his approach.

Stepping forward, Pock angles his head ever so slightly and eases into her.

_This... is happening..._

Pieck follows his lead, leaning in to gently meet his lips with her own.

The first kiss is light and brief, as Pock pulls away barely after Pieck has closed her eyes, hoping to savor the warmth surrounding their intimate bond. But Pock craves more of her touch, and wraps his arms around her waist, tightening his grip as he kisses her firmly, more passionately.

Pieck encloses her arms around his shoulders, then draws one hand back to cup his jaw, returning the kiss with equal tenderness and longing.

They pull away once more to look at each other, waiting on the other to decide what happens next.

Without having to rely on words, both smile and come to the agreement that neither are ready to stop kissing. Their lips resume the feverish interaction, finding a more comfortable rhythm with the way their mouths move chastely against one another.

Losing himself in her embrace, Pock feels a calm serenity encircle him.

Come what may, all that matters is that he's finally confessed his true feelings.

And just as she's always been since day one, Pieck is there to enliven him wholeheartedly, confirming what he now knows to be true.

She's his better half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTP kiss ftw!


	13. August - Ymir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with Annie's ficlet! (Still working on Mika's ficlet. Fingers crossed I can upload both asap!)  
> I'm also making a playlist for this series as well. I'll share it on tumblr when this is finally complete! :D  
> In the meantime, please enjoy Ymir's final ficlet of the series! :)

She’s feeling adventurous when they come across train tracks during a casual walk in the woods.

Ymir leads Bertolt down an unmarked trail, one that she’s explored on multiple occasions. The late afternoon is ideal for this impromptu excursion, given that it’s cooled down and there’s less people out and about. This trail is certainly less traveled by, as not many tourists nor locals know much about it.

Bertolt is unfamiliar with the outskirts of town enough as it is, and although he enjoys the great outdoors, he maintains unrelenting vigilance.

“Ymir,” he says, strolling alongside her on high alert. “You don’t think we’ll encounter any sort of… _trouble_ … do you?”

Ymir’s bemusement is apparent with the slight shift in her stride and the curious furrowing of her brows. “Trouble?” she repeats, mulling over the implication unsuccessfully. “What do you mean?”

Bertolt spares her the lengthy response he _wants_ to chide her with; having an assortment of ‘ _things that could go bad on this hike’_ practically subdivided by category.

Instead, he goes with, “Bears… mountain lions.”

Rather straightforward, but legitimate, fears.

“Ha! I’m not worried at all,” Ymir huffs in response. “Not when you’re a helluva shot.”

“Ummm…” Bertolt stalls, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not armed,” he informs her, like it shouldn’t have to be plainly obvious.

Ymir pauses and looks over at her tall hiking buddy. “Oh… right.”

 _Duh_.

She has to remind herself this isn’t the wild west. There’s no explicit need to be packing heat.

It’s a hike for god’s sake.

Aiming to play the misunderstanding off nonchalantly, Ymir gapes at their surroundings and points toward various trees and bushes, as though they hold the key to achieving victory.

“Then we’ll grab something for self-defense,” she says, implying that mere sticks and stones could save their hides in the event of an emergency.

_Hey, all David had was a freaking slingshot. Goliath didn’t stand a chance._

“Or we could run,” Bertolt suggests, inadvertently playing along.

Ymir places both hands on her hips, pondering.

_Fight or flight._

Ah yes. That single basic principle adheres to the natural order of things; the primal reaction that could determine one’s own survival in a life or death situation.

In that case, Bert: Good luck out-running a bear.

“Actually,” Ymir chuckles. “I just gotta run faster than _you_.”

At first, Bertolt holds off from retaliation and bites his tongue… but _then_ , with a wry grin he unyieldingly gives in to the urge.

“You might be able to out-swim me,” he begins, “but if you wanna challenge me to a race right here, right now and embarrass yourself, that’s on you.”

“Wut.”

Ymir’s still getting used to Bertolt opening up from his usual unassuming shy-guy persona. But it’s fucking awesome to see him shed the typical bashful personality for a more hardened and distinctly strong-willed temperament.

A part of her thinks maybe she’s rubbing off on him, like he’s picking up on her habits and dry sense of humor.

Well, shit! How much more wholesome can they get?

Laughing a single beat, Ymir shakes her head. “You’d go easy on me and you know it,” she teases. “You’re a big softie.”

“I’m a softie because I care about your fragile ego?” he deadpans, feigning offense. “I’d like to think I’m more of a gentleman.”

 _Sarcastic Bert is a cute Bert_ , Ymir thinks.

“Chivalry’s dead,” she replies dryly.

“No, it’s not,” Bertolt affirms, emphasizing his point by helping her across a small creek.

Ymir gives him a playful smirk after she’s eased over the small body of rushing water, and perhaps it’s a little _too_ late when she suddenly realizes how close they are.

He feels so incredibly warm, evocative of the strange comfort a stone hearth provides on the chilliest of wintry days. The muscled arms sheathed under his jacket make her feel pathetically small and delicate as they curl around her waist to assist in her crossing.

In some ways, it’s humbling. In other ways, it’s frustrating, mainly because it’s yet another feeling she has yet to fully become accustomed to.

Both are subdued by the tentative respite, the unceremonious cease in movement leaving them to wordlessly acknowledge the position they find themselves in. Bertolt’s still holding her, gently albeit somewhat cautiously, peering into her golden brown eyes with a softened expression.

Ymir returns his gaze, eyes meeting his as she ponders a surreal dilemma. She could wait for him to decide what happens next, simultaneously utilizing this opportunity to practice patience in that regard. _Or_ , she could diffuse the tension with an untimely joke… perhaps.

Except she’s got nothing.

By virtue of the crafty and witty personality she’s honed over the entirety of her young adult life, there have been very few times Ymir has found herself thoroughly unable to come up with a single to say.

And now, wrapped in Bertolt’s arms, enthralled by his calming green eyes and adorable half-smile, she finds herself pitifully speechless.

It would be so easy to just give in and accept defeat; surrendering her pride to the musings of carnal desire.

Then, by what Ymir can only assume is pure luck, she’s saved by the proverbial bell.

The sound of a horn reverberates through the air, echoing from a distant tunnel. Ymir almost immediately recognizes the vessel.

_The train._

Judging by the increase in volume of what Ymir equates with the sound of a motor, rustling cars, and distinguishable ‘chugging’, she deduces that the train couldn’t be too far off.  

Which also means they’re close to the tracks.

Averting her gaze a few paces below, Ymir spots them in an instant. Situated along an embankment, the tracks are structured with flat metal railings, carefully notched with wooden crossties.

A spark ignites her scheming adventurous side.

Nodding her head toward the source of her newfound inspiration, she shoots Bertolt a daring look. “Come on,” she says, tugging on his jacket. “I have an idea.”

Bertolt releases Ymir and follows her down a slanted hill, scrutinizing the train tracks in speculative detail. “And what would that be?” he asks.

Ymir waves him off and looks away with one hand shielding her eyes, her patient demeanor suggesting she’s on the lookout for something.

“I’m trying to leave some room for mystery here, Bertie,” she replies. “Spontaneity keeps life interesting.”

Bertolt is undoubtedly dissatisfied with her evasiveness, but figures her point is worth noting.

For what it’s worth, he can honestly say that he trusts her… and takes into account she hasn’t gotten them killed.

(At least, _not yet_ anyway.)

In spite of the somewhat morbid thought, he’s fine with just keeping her company and going along for the ride.

Said ride now rapidly approaching…

Another horn resounds, this time much louder than before.

 _The train must be close_ , Ymir reasons inwardly.

To confirm her theory, the locomotive emerges from the south after rounding a corner through the tunnel, chugging along at what appears to be a rather leisurely speed. 

It’s in that moment that Bertolt puts two and two together. The train is heading their way, several cars in plain view devoid of any cargo whatsoever. Ymir’s disposition is sentried yet lackadaisical, preparing an all-too-foreseeable move.

Bertolt’s skipped the denial phase entirely, and forces himself into acceptance without so much as a second guess.

Ymir’s going to hitch a ride on the train. And he’s going with her.

To _where_ exactly? Who knows. The answer, if there is one, doesn’t matter either way.

Just as he’s predicted, Ymir looks back at him with a roguish smirk and winks. “Ready for our ‘midnight train going anywhere’?”

Bertolt has little if any time to reflect on their impromptu karaoke night at the Stohess Pizzeria before the train has caught up with them, now several cars ahead.

He’s glad at least _one_ of them can make light of the bygone memory, although he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed himself even a _tiny_ bit.

And with that, _Don’t Stop Believin’_ is now stuck in his head. Again.

Ymir, meanwhile, finds a comfortable pace to keep up with the train and waits for an opening to hop on, searching for the ideal space to commit to a landing.

Bertolt isn’t far behind, and before long he’s matched her speed, though it’s obvious he’s exerting less energy. With legs longer than hers, it doesn’t take much to keep up.

Ymir discovers an empty car in passing, and sets her sights on the objective. Mindful of her timing, she implements a single jump, taking hold of the side rail for support before lunging inside. With a laugh, she stands up and breaks into celebratory dance, shooting Bertolt a challenging gaze.

“You got this!” she encourages him, waiting for him to join her.

Bertolt’s impressed, but holds off from complimenting her agility until he too has boarded. Parroting her movements as though he’d been formally guided, he latches onto the side rail after seizing the opportunity and thrusts himself into the empty car, positioning himself at Ymir’s side.

They take a moment to catch their breath, chests heaving steadily and evenly.

“See how easy that was?” Ymir nudges his shoulder, amusement etched on her face.

Bertolt gives her a single nod, then huffs. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Ymir shrugs. “Maybe a few times...”

But _this…_ this is the first time she’s ever had anyone join her. In the past, she’d gone by herself when she wanted (or needed, rather) to be alone and mull over the complexities of life.

This was an escape of sorts. A place she can feel safe.

Introducing Bertolt to her own personal haven discloses a certain truth.

She’s learning to trust someone other than herself. Learning to let someone in again even after she had feared there was no room left in her heart.

_Hold up… Don’t go there…_

Distraction. She needs a distraction.

“Here.” Ymir looks out the car and plops herself on the edge, making herself more comfortable. “Now we can sit back and take in the view.”

Concurring with the gesture, Bertolt sits next to her, shoulder to shoulder, their legs dangling over the fringes of the car. They settle into a tranquil silence, both pairs of eyes observing the sight ahead as its frequent changes vary from thick green foliage to wide open pastures.

The shift in environment leads to a question.

“Where do you think this train’s going?” Bertolt asks, his own imagination wandering.

Ymir remains quiet, senses consumed by a meditative wariness that looms over her like a cloud. She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as the rhythmic sound of the train’s rumbling against the tracks gently soothe her.

“Couldn’t say,” she mumbles. “North, probably.”

She’s never really given the train’s destination much thought, but in past explorations she’s always hopped off near the county line. The walk back to Stohess Beach is undeniably a long one, but Ymir is adamant the trek is well-worth putting a few extra miles on her boots regardless.

She can’t worry about such trivial matters now. Not when Bertolt is with her.

Everything else seems to fade into mere background noise whenever he’s by her side.

It’s hard to imagine the absence of that feeling when the transition to autumn brings an end to whatever’s been brewing between them this whole time.

Although she’s been good about avoiding these thoughts entirely, she can’t help but wonder what Bertolt expects to happen before parting ways- if he expects anything at all.

Over the course of countless summer outings together, he _has_ mentioned possible trips they could take and places they could visit; hinting at future excursions involving the two of them. He’s heard all about her dreams to travel the globe one day, and it helps that they share a mutual affinity for sightseeing and cultural immersion. 

His approach may not be as outward or bold, but he manages to keep up, his eagerness equal to hers.

Perhaps he doesn’t see an end to this.

Maybe _she’s_ been blinded by pessimism.

Maybe she’s been overthinking it all.

Maybe she’s found complacency in living in the moment.

_Maybe…_

Her head is still resting on his shoulder when she opens her eyes slowly, tilting her gaze up a bit to look at him under dark lashes. The small movement alters Bertolt’s fixation from the view ahead to the brown eyes gleaming in his midst.

The adjustment does not disappoint in the slightest.

Bertolt admires the constellation of freckles across the delicate bridge of her nose, sprawling further across both cheekbones. The feature compliments her sunkissed skin, her short chestnut brown hair, her solemn expression.

She’s absolutely breathtaking.

Bertolt emits a quiet tenderness amid the internal struggle to gather his thoughts and feelings, emulating the rise of intrigue as displayed by the way she’s watching him. Ymir seems confident enough not to have to fill in the gaps in conversations with mindless chatter or small-talk; a peculiarity he has yet to adapt to.

If only they could stay like this.

“That’s a first,” he finally whispers, smiling somberly.

Ymir raises a brow, quizzical. “What?”

“You’re never this quiet,” Bertolt replies, contemplating.

Any other day, Ymir might have countered the remark with a swarm of comebacks or downplayed the whole thing with quips peppered in sarcasm.

But she’s unsuccessful in fulfilling a desperate attempt at recoiling back to her habitual troublemaker ways. She can’t bring herself to withdraw in absentminded detachment when she’s faced with someone who makes her feel so helplessly smitten.

It’s as if she’s strangling herself over her own words, not so much as a breath slipping from the constraint of her tightly sealed lips.

She still hasn’t said anything when she realizes the county line is less than a mile away. The train’s horn sounds once again, pulling her out of a distant trance.

“You okay?” Bertolt appears mildly concerned, voice low and velvety smooth.

Ymir pauses to look off into the open fields ahead, calmly assuring herself as best she can.

With a deep sigh, she turns back to him and nods. “Got a lot on my mind,” she tells him, coming to grips with a multitude of complex sentiments.

What would she gain from worrying about the future? About things she has no control over?

Nothing at all.

It’s the unexpected that makes life worth the tumultuous journey.

And Bertolt’s presence in her life is an unexpected gift.

The realization has fully sunk in at this point, changing her outlook for the better, she hopes.

Quite frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yet, she’s not the only one undergoing a deeply intimate reflection on what the future may hold for them.

Bertolt is taken by the sight of a pensive Ymir, considering how rare it must be for her to be rendered speechless. He’s drawn to her innate sensibility, finding it equal parts fascinating and intimidating.

It’s strange to think he’s intimidated by his own attraction to her.

He’s been thinking about that more than he’d like to admit- about that intimidation, and what it means that a woman’s beauty has him as uneasy as any man’s show of strength.

An urge to pursue the matter further is subdued, as he resorts to an alternate method at emphasizing a point.

Leaning forward just a touch, Bertolt brushes his lips over her forehead and presses them into a small kiss, one hand running fingers through her hair. His mouth lingers above the tender site fleetingly, before he slowly pulls away, curious to see her reaction.  He’s quick to detect a change in her eyes.

It’s subtle, easily missed if one were to blink.

But he’s able to clearly make out the coy fragility emanating beneath the barricade she’s grown accustomed to retreating to, sheltering her vulnerability.

Allowing for the moment to wash over her, Ymir’s riveting stare pierces into him with desirous intent. She feels as though she’s been entirely disarmed, shaken down to the bitter core, yet filled with uncomplicated happiness and ease.

It’s all she can do to refrain from giving in to her impulsive nature, applying patience to the circumstances laid before her.

A beat passes.

Ymir understands and accepts her decision to settle on a more refined approach; willing to confront whatever outcome may result. She reasons that it’s too late to brood over the risks when her feelings and emotions are already in too deep.

Another beat passes.

Bertolt is still looking at her, his visage upheld with chaste curiosity.

Another beat.

She imagines his lips to feel as soft as they look.

Yet another.

The opportunity is practically staring at her right in the face, like a flashing neon sign.

But…

She _doesn’t_ take it.

 _Not yet…_ she reasons, opting to wait.

Wait for what exactly? She doesn’t even know herself.

But she’s determined to definitively act on the wealth of sentiments before they go their separate ways.

It just wouldn’t be right if the moment felt too easy, too forced; like they were obligated or under insurmountable pressure.

 _I can hold out for now_ … she thinks _,_ gripping Bertolt’s hand in earnest. _I’ll know when the moment’s right._

Ymir nods toward the view ahead of them, alluding to an impending departure; one that she interprets to be both literal and symbolic.

“Ready to hop off?”

They’ve crossed the county line, signaling for their return home.

Ymir smiles at him, an impish expression that’s both challenging and mischievous.

Time for a leap of faith.

Bertolt agrees, mirroring her smile. “We’ll go together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love this pairing :')  
> It's always a pleasure to write Ymir's character.
> 
> (Fret not! Ymir and Bertie will return in the final fic/epilogue !!!)  
> Hope you enjoyed the read! :)


	14. August - Annie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Annie's final ficlet! :O  
> Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on the last couple ficlets, everyone! :) It means a lot!
> 
> Mikasa's ficlet will conclude the August collection, and then there will be an Epilogue :D  
> I'm kinda sad this is so freaking close to being over :(  
> Anyway, read and enjoy! :D

She can’t even fathom how long it’s been since she’s seen a baseball game in the city.

Annie Leonhart considers herself more of a boxing or MMA fan, but she sure as hell isn’t one to turn down free tickets to a ball game- especially when Pieck is insistent on making the grand day-trip a double date.

Lucky lady Pieck had been number one in sales at the surf shop, and therefore awarded four tickets to an MLB game in the nearby metropolis of Liberio.

Porco had been just a few transactions shy of claiming the top spot for himself, but both he and his raven-haired co-worker had agreed they would go together regardless of who accomplished the feat. Given that he’s a lifelong baseball fanatic _and_ plays for his college team, it’s only fitting that Pieck would invite him first and foremost anyway. Pact or no pact.

And they’re also dating… so that _might_ have had something to do with it, too.

As for Annie’s invitation, she figures this is Pieck’s way of thanking her for all the loads of free ice cream she had been guilt-tripped into giving her when her ankle was still healing up back in June. Though she had expected Pieck to give the extra ticket to Marcel (or even Reiner in an attempt to force him and Porco to play nice with another), it had come as a lovely surprise when she had offered it to Eren instead.

(Then again, Pieck has always thought of herself to be the perfect matchmaker, and she’s approved of Annie’s relationship with the lifeguard from the get-go.)

Judging by the enthusiastic ear-to-ear smile Eren dons as they navigate through the clamoring corridors of the stadium to their seats, it’s evident that the gesture is certainly appreciated.

After the two couples have settled themselves among a multitude of eager fans, Eren revels in the palpable ambiance and takes in his surroundings in muted elation. The wave of exhilaration rushing over him can only be equated with what a young child would feel at an amusement park on a sunny day. So pure and uplifting.

Gripping a loaded hotdog in one hand, he leisurely leans back into his seat and slings his free arm around Annie’s shoulder, eyes roaming over the ball field ahead.

The Liberio Titans are down by three at the top of the second, struggling to keep up with the powerhouse Marley Warriors.

Between the two, Eren doesn’t necessarily care who wins, as he considers himself a loyal fan of the Eldian Scouts. Still, he can’t help but wonder if the petite blonde has a personal stake in the outcome of the game.

Her appearance suggests she favors one side over the other, but Eren finds himself rather curious as to whether or not it’s of her own volition- _or_ if Pieck put her up to it.

“So are we rooting for anyone in particular here, Annie?” he asks, voice peppered in sarcasm as he studies the Titans jersey adorning her small frame.

“Root for the home team!” Pieck answers in her place, almost breaking into song. The jersey she’s wearing is an exact replica of the blonde’s. Possibly another one of her conditions.

_We have to match, Annie!_

“And if they don’t win, it’s a shame,” Annie finishes off, although her tone lacks the cheery melody Pieck’s own voice naturally possesses.

From where they’re sitting in the stands Annie can see traces of Liberio’s city skyline, the brilliant lights contrasting feverishly with the darkness of the night. The stadium is lit up in extravagance, sporting colors in favor of Liberio’s finest. Red and White flash on the scoreboard adjacent to a giant webcam that showcases multiple ads on a repetitive cycle. Fans of both teams chant the occasional baseball tune in between innings, mostly to adhere to tradition but in Annie’s honest opinion anyone who claims they don’t enjoy at least humming along to _Take Me Out to the Ball Game_ is lying to themselves.

Annie kicks her feet up, sighing. _Nothing more American than a baseball game._

In mid-relaxation, she’s quick to give Porco a side-eyed scowl when he makes a snide remark in regards to the team she and Pieck have pledged their allegiance to.

“Liberio doesn’t stand a chance,” Porco scoffs, flaunting a prideful smirk as he smooths over his black and green Warriors jersey. “Marley has some of the best hitters in the league.”

“Good pitching always stops good hitting,” Eren interjects before diving into his hotdog.

“Right…” Porco remains disdainful, looking over at Pieck’s jersey in disappointment. He’ll work on converting her later. “That might be true if Liberio’s pitcher was even _halfway_ decent.” He nods ahead toward the field, stifling his amusement so as not to seem too snobbish. “Case in point…”

Eren and Annie watch in unison as the pitcher in question nervously levels himself at the pitcher’s mound, preparing to throw a curveball. After keeping the fans in brief suspense, he raises his arm and fires the ball toward the strike zone with everything he’s got. In spite of his efforts (almost exactly as Porco had internally predicted), the opposing batter for Marley swings with unmatchable ferocity and blasts the ball far beyond any of the outfielders’ reach.

Going… going… gone…

The dramatic impact results in third base’s occupant making it home… then second… then first… and then finally, the hitter himself.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” Annie mutters, eyes widening in utter shock.

_Fuck. All hope is lost._

Porco smirks, content. “Grand fucking slam.”

* * *

 

The Titans are still getting their asses handed to them at the bottom of the seventh inning.

At this point, Annie doesn’t even want to look at the scoreboard, convinced it would only be bad for her health. She’s unsure why she’s so invested in this game, and it’s crazy to think she hasn’t felt devastation of this particular magnitude since Ronda Rousey suffered the brutal loss to Holly Holm a couple years back. Maybe what she feels is more on par with pity than anything else.

Either way, it saddens her to see _anyone_ endure such humiliation.

_Damn, Liberio could use a miracle right about now._

Pieck on the other hand remains placid and calm as always, munching on Cracker Jack while the game rolls along. When she finally does finish snacking like there’s no tomorrow, she shifts herself at a slight angle and rests her head on Porco’s shoulder, a gesture Annie notices through peripheral vision.

Annie can’t help but melt a little on the inside when she catches a glimpse of the usually stoic and austere Porco press his lips against Pieck’s forehead.

But… she can’t help but cringe all the same.

It’s not that public displays of affection make her uncomfortable or anything. It’s just that one; it’s weird seeing Porkboy become Softboy, and two; she’s paranoid about being watched.

Making out with Eren is nice.

But making out with Eren when people are around?

Ehhh… the thought strikes her as _weird_. Indecent even.

Granted, Pieck and Porco are keeping their affection tame with cutesy hand-holding and pecks on the cheek for the time being- and now, they’ve moved on to wholesome chit-chat and generally supportive conversation.

“Maybe one day,” Pieck begins, looking back and forth between the ball field and her beau, “you’ll get a chance to play for the Warriors.”

Porco’s a bit flustered at that, but accepts the compliment nonetheless. “That’s the goal,” he says, cheeks bright red.

Annie can practically feel the lovey-dovey aura the couple next to her emits- and it’s weird as fuck.

Regardless of the conflicted emotions she feels now (a curiously stimulating combination of ‘awww that’s sweet’ and ‘ewww what the hell, brb gonna puke’), the conclusion she ultimately comes to is a satisfactory one.

Pieck brings out the good in Porco. Porco nurtures Pieck’s eccentric tendencies.

They’re meant to be!

 _But holy shit…_ Annie thinks, reaching for some jumbo roasted peanuts. _Their kids are gonna be something else._

Much to her relief (she supposes), Eren leans over and brings her out of the bewildering reverie with some ‘startling’ news.

“Sooooooo,” he drones after clearing his throat, tugging on the collar of his shirt, “it’s not lookin’ too good for Liberio.”

_Thanks, Captain Obvious._

“Awh, really?” Annie yawns, feigning surprise. Though her conscience had warned her not to, her eyes flicker to the scoreboard _and she freaking sees it_.

 

**Titans – 4**

**Warriors – 16**

 

Damn. It’s worse than she thought. Way worse.

Turning back to Eren, it’s all Annie can do to muster out, “I had _no_ idea.”

In all fairness, she’s not completely lying.

Eren detects a hint of disappointment in her demeanor and aims to lighten the mood as best he can with attempted humor.

“Cheer up, Annie Bananie,” he chuckles, draping his arm over her shoulder once more. “The Titans have come back from worse than this. They’re capable of salvaging the game.”

Annie nearly chokes on a handful of peanuts, having missed the last part of his remark entirely.

“Annie _Bananie_?” She’s baffled by the sudden nickname, annunciating each syllable as though her tongue is tiptoeing over an obscure foreign language.  

Eren only smiles in response, and then, “Couldn’t resist.”

Though his reply is lacking in further explanation, it’s reassuring enough for her.

After all, Eren Jaeger is one the biggest dorks she’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. Maybe she _shouldn’t_ be all that surprised.

_Ugh…_

With a casual roll of her shoulders, Annie decides she can tolerate the green-eyed charmer’s mischief. Besides, ‘Annie Bananie’ is an upgrade from the nickname her friends had given her back in high school.

She doubts she’ll ever live ‘Annie Big Booty Leonhart’ down- though it’s not for a lack of trying.

Luckily, she finds Eren’s adorable grin to be a comforting distraction from the seemingly futile musing.

As a quiet lull settles between them, Annie internally sifts through possible nicknames for him, figuring it’s only fair.

_Jaegerbomb. Jaegermeister. Edgen. Eren Bae-ger. Greenie…_

Staying true to her reserved nature, however, she opts to keep the consequential selection to herself.

Maybe she’ll share the hilarity with him someday but before she can decide if _Er-Bear_ would sound as cringey out loud as it does in her head, an announcement booms from the stadium speakers and flashes ahead on the giant screen near the scoreboard.

“Oh, shit,” Annie and Porco mumble in dreadful harmony.

Pieck and Eren grip their respective dates in earnest, enthused and glossy-eyed.

_“It’s Kiss Cam time!”_

The crowd is going wildly nuts, for reasons far beyond Annie’s comprehension.

She honest-to-god can’t be the only one who thinks it’s just a little weird, right? Expecting people to make out on TV without any warning. What if they were siblings? What if they were in an argument? What if they were complete strangers?

Would she be a buzzkill if she hid from view or went out of her way to avoid the whole thing?

Okay, maybe she shouldn’t take her paranoid concerns too seriously. The odds of it landing on her and Eren are slim.

And even if it _did_ land on her, well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s all just for fun. Hell, Eren would totally be all for it, and how could she refuse such precious puppy-dog eyes and heavenly soft lips?

_Dear god, Leonhart. Get ahold of yourself._

After assuring herself the kiss cam was focused on the upper level and _most definitely would not land on her_ , Annie watches as it makes its way through various couples in the crowd; some shocked for a moment before delivering a peck to the cheek or a chaste kiss, and others just going for it. One man holds up a sign that says ‘she’s my sister’ without any delay when it lands on him and a pretty woman, and that brings a laugh out from the crowd.

But then…

Of course…

_*Sigh*_

It lands on her and Eren.

The crowd, captivated by the lovebirds gracing the screen, start to chant.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Pieck shoots Annie a suggestive wink. Porco smirks, nodding his head whilst waiting for the low-key duo to put on a show already.

Sure, Annie Leonhart might need a little encouragement.

But Eren Jaeger needs absolutely no encouragement whatsoever.

“Annie, if you don’t mind,” he begins, grinning like the big freaking dork he is. “I’d like to kiss my girl on national television.”

_My girl._

And she’s hit with that feeling again. The awkward inexplicable fusion that encompasses melting to the core, her knees buckling _and_ cringing in despair, her stomach dropping.

Damnit.

Well… there’s no point in putting off the inevitable.

Annie finally and wholeheartedly gives in- though truthfully, she contemplates the very real possibility that Eren had won her over from the moment they first met.

_And it all started in the ice cream shop…_

“Fuck it,” she whispers, firmly planting her lips on his.

The crowd’s cheering elevates higher with the anticipated kiss, but with Eren’s mouth still caressing her own, the hoots and hollers fade into mere background noise.

The world stops spinning for a moment. Everything’s in slow motion.

All she knows is Eren’s gentle touch and tender warmth, the coolness of night, the faded humming of old-school ball game anthems…

She hopes she’ll always remember the night she first fell in love.

_For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out_

_At the old ball game!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God bless the ereannie!
> 
> Oh and obligatory kiss cam au ftw!  
> Definitely suits them ;)


	15. August - Mikasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a privilege to write these.
> 
> Thank you all for being sweet and supportive.
> 
> And now, a farewell for Mikasa...

She wants to visit his office one last time, and perhaps leave a trace of her wandering to reveal she'd been there.

It's Mikasa's last night working as Levi's assistant at the gallery, and the solitude among pristine white walls and sophisticated arrays of his work leaves her alone with a multitude of conflicted thoughts weighing heavily on her mind.

As the hours pass by, it's an uphill battle to shake the inexplicable feeling of uncertainty filling her with unease. The disconcerting mental exertion rotates in seemingly infinite circles, alternating from the upcoming school year to parting ways with her friends and family and then finally to an unclear future.

It pains her to come to the realization that she has very few answers to the innumerable questions swirling about her head. The hardest questions of all involve her own reservations regarding the prospect of applying to medical school.

She can honestly say that her heart's not in it.

Her heart's always belonged to the arts. To expression. To examining the core of the delicate human spirit.

It allows her to see the beauty in even the most dismal of circumstances.

Her convictions are further emphasized with each passing glance at the photographs displayed in conscious assortments throughout the gallery.

Levi's work is truly inspiring; ahead of his time, no doubt.

When Mikasa comes across the familiar image of the barn house nestled in serene countryside, she finds herself unexpectedly relaxed, captivated by the poignant sight like it's her first time seeing it.

The memories of Levi's words accompany the quieted lull; an apposite recollection.

" _You have to be willing to take risks, Mikasa. You'll never know what you're capable of if you never try."_

She's never forgotten those words. She doubts she ever will.

Before she can question its origins, Mikasa concedes to addressing an unprecedented assertion.

_I'm the only one who can make this decision for myself…_

Yet the supposition seems precariously out of reach. So distant.

She turns her head, gaze shifting to the back of the gallery. The door to Levi's office is slightly ajar, appealing to her inquisitive nature. She's compelled to act on this opportunity, convinced these measures must be taken in her search for confirmation.

Levi had informed Mikasa earlier he would return within the hour, allowing her just under ten minutes now to indulge herself in solitary nostalgia.

His office harbors no mystery, as she's ventured inside on multiple occasions.

Rather, she knows exactly what she's looking for when she steps inside.

" _The next time you go out on a photo excursion, I'd like to go with you."_

Levi had kept true to his word, giving Mikasa the chance to essentially work side-by-side with the renowned photographer. They had shot settings both in and out of town, implementing various techniques as sceneries had been framed in the midst of the blue hour, the golden hour, and everything in between.

And now, as she rummages through the film and photo equipment, she's firmly intent on scrutinizing every single image they'd managed to capture together, hoping the feat could incite whatever quality Levi sees in her.

Mikasa positions herself at his desk, ankles crossed as she sits atop the flat cherry wood surface. She's still filing through images when the sound of a low stifled cough like someone pretending to clear their throat seizes her attention, intercepting her pursuit for even the slightest implication of resolve.

When she looks up, she's met with piercing onyx eyes; the gaze of a man whose presence commands an entire room.

Levi has returned from his errands and, curiously so, his demeanor suggests he's been watching her from the frame of the doorway for a brief while, arms folded across his chest.

He expels a deep breath before speaking, mindful of her vulnerable state.

"Sorry to interrupt," he begins, propping himself up from leaning against the door. "I would've asked how the night went, but it seems as though you're caught up in re-living past photo shoots."

Mikasa takes a moment to respond, her visage devoid of emotion as she begins gathering the negatives and putting them away. "There's just so much to look back on," she muses aloud. "This summer was an eye-opener, that's for sure."

Levi gives a tentative nod. "Find what you were looking for?" he asks, expecting her to understand what he's really alluding to.

The young woman before him, however, resorts to evasiveness. "I only wanted to commit these images to memory; it being my last night here and all."

The way she speaks, one would think someone was dying- to which Levi is quick to comment on.

"Planning on disappearing?" he speculates, though he's merely entertaining himself.

Either way, his small attempt at humor leaves something to be desired, so she answers with an indirect response. "Not exactly."

_But wouldn't that be nice? To just get away from… everything…_

In spite of her closed-off disposition, Levi fully understands. He regards his mentorship over her on a deeply personal level and, therefore, he can relate to what she's feeling now. Still, she has free will. She's the only one who can make the choice for herself.

But Levi feels an obligation to her. He's convinced he'd be doing them both a disservice by reserving his honest judgment; however harsh it may be.

"This might be hard for you to believe, Mikasa," he says, stepping forward, "but I was young once, like you."

Mikasa perks her head up, interested in where this is going.

"There's other paths I could've taken. Other schools I could've studied at. Other career choices I could've devoted my time to. I could've listened to those around me who insisted my dreams were only that; dreams," he continues, accentuating his main point. "But I refused to limit myself, because I wasn't going to settle. And  _neither should you_."

There's a pause, leaving them at a standstill.

Until Levi presses further, exerting an authoritative tone.

"There are very few things as pitiful as wasted talent," he asserts. "To squander it would be nothing short of cowardice."

His message is relayed, but it's a bit early to tell what effect it has on his protégé of sorts.

Conflicted, Mikasa undergoes momentary reflection. She's heard this from Levi before, but the impact of hearing it for what could be the last time is far more profound than what she leads on.

Keeping her hesitation subtle, she appears to relent, as though she's been stripped of all defenses.

"I don't want to be afraid, but… nothing has ever scared me more." She swallows, tense.

But she's omitting the truth.

Just when she thinks she's inconsolable, that she must remain realistic above all else, and that she's only destined to fulfill what's expected of her, Levi calls her bluff.

"Bullshit."

It catches her off guard. Mikasa holds off from reprisal. "What?" she asks, looking at him squarely.

"I said your excuse is bullshit," Levi replies unwaveringly. "And you know it."

"Eloquently put," Mikasa mutters to herself. "How so?"

"Because you're not afraid of anything," comes his steadfast response. "I've seen how you interact with others, and how you establish yourself among people who come off as intimidating. You hold your own, yet you're approachable. You lead by example, yet you're humble."

Mikasa grips the ends of the desk, pulse spiking in elevation when Levi's expression softens a bit, reiterating the discourse to her potential as an artist.

"You're a natural behind the camera. Each and every shot you take captures something not everyone sees; genuine and unique in how  _you_  envision it." He edges closer to her, the commanding tone of his voice substituted for one of solicitude. "Fear can't be your scapegoat. That's not what's really holding you back. You think you have to sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of living up to other's expectations. That you can't let them down or you'd be a failure. Well, truth be told, it's not about them."

A silver lining.

"The only person you have to answer for," Levi concludes, "is yourself."

An awakening.

His words seep in, reaching depths only known to her. A once abstract concept is now crystal clear, and for what feels like the first time in a long while, Mikasa feels some semblance of relief.

She merely nods in comprehension. "I know," she whispers, sighing.

_And I have you to thank for it._

A cursory glance to the clock informs her it's a tad later than she's accustomed to; in regards to staying at the gallery, anyway.

Time's up.

Assuming the previous exchange to be the sum of their parting words, Mikasa expects only to be escorted out the gallery and bid a plain farewell, finalizing one of many goodbyes she's yet to check off her summer bucket list.

She's prepared for it, but that doesn't negate the fact that she's dreading it.

What she  _isn't_  prepared for, however, is Levi's surprising proposition.

"You've put in a lot of work for the gallery this summer. Truth is, I couldn't have asked for a better assistant," he initiates, showcasing promos in hand. "I'd like to offer my gratitude."

Mikasa fixates her attention to the promos, squinting at the bold print hovering above vaguely recognizable imagery. "The Lantern Festival? In Shiganshina?" she reads aloud, almost incredulously so.

The small neighboring town is well-known for its annual display of embellished lanterns, not a single street untouched as the entire layout is adorned in elaborate décor. At midnight, large crowds assemble together near Shiganshina Lake to release paper lanterns in the air; a tradition that symbolizes a new start.

Mikasa has never been.

But now might be a good time to rectify that.

Levi extends one last sentiment. "If you're up for it."

Mikasa tucks a loose stray of hair behind her ear in an effort to hide the slight pink that stains her cheeks. Her appreciation is evident in the small smile she hides not so well.

"I'd love to go," she says, ultimately accepting the invitation. She catches herself from adding ' _with you',_ but only by the narrowest of margins.

Not a moment too soon, the duo finish closing the gallery together, leaving the establishment in darkness with the flip of a switch.

They step outside into the crisp late-summer air, dusk falling rapidly.

Even after Levi has locked the place up, Mikasa finds herself staring solemnly through the windows and into its interior, frozen where she stands.

She has yet to ask him what's been plaguing her mind since the day they first met.

And before Levi is able to ensure she's all right, she finally does.

"Levi… what  _is_  it that you see in me?"

Her question reels in his fixation almost haphazardly so, though he's taken by her straightforwardness and candid nature.

With her face coated in the remnants of waning twilight, her grey eyes luminous as ever, Levi sustains the quiet ambiance to ponder a few things before answering.

He thinks, under different circumstances, they could have flourished together.

Unaware of his silent admiration, Mikasa turns away from the gallery to look at him, and that's when at long last she gets a response.

Levi does not falter.

"I see myself."

* * *

There's a few minutes left before the official send-off.

Levi and Mikasa make their way through the crowd and settle on a quaint spot among the verdant field of the park's grounds. The lake is situated nearby, glistening as the warm glow of lanterns yet to be released reflect vibrantly on calm waters.

The collective gathering of enthusiasts, young and old alike, are eager for the countdown, patiently waiting for the defining moment of the festival.

Once he and Mikasa have been given their respective paper lanterns, Levi briefly explains a peculiar custom.

"See this here?" he asks, pointing at the little nook inside his lantern. "This is where you can put what you've written down. Stays intact without getting burned."

Mikasa heeds his instructions, but struggles with one aspect of the ritual. Staring at the small slip of paper in her hand, she brings a borrowed pen up to her chin, tapping it in thought.

"What should I write?" she ponders aloud.

"Whatever you want," Levi replies. "Some people write down what they're thankful for, their goals for the future, the names of the people they love- you get the idea."

Mikasa has  _plenty_  of ideas now.

But with limited time, she'll have to decide what suits her inclinations best- and quickly. She lets out a deep breath, craning her neck to look up at the night sky. Her thoughts wander aimlessly as her surroundings are tuned out and fade to bristling static, vision sharply focused on the stars twinkling above.

Mikasa thinks back on the past few years, reflecting on her younger self.

The life she had envisioned back then looks nothing like the one she envisions now- but maybe that's a good thing. It indicates that she has evolved, matured, grown. Physically. Emotionally.

Experiences thus far have taught her there will always be ups and downs in this life. Some days, she'll just have to take the good with the bad.

She'll have to keep moving forward.

With memories keeping her composed, she's able to find a ray of hope among the infinite spectrum of celestial bodies lightyears away. The pulsating tapestry of radiant strands merge and cascade into perfect spirals, like a kaleidoscope of colors and light surging from an abysmal void.

It's a glimpse into eternity. The beginning and the end of every drop of life.

The alternate perspective momentarily makes her feel small and insignificant, but she finds reassurance when she looks over at the man standing next to her.

Having Levi by her side, just as he has been throughout the entirety of this very real process, gives her the courage to press on with her ambitions.

It's an epiphany.

And Mikasa makes peace with her decision.

She's earned it.

Pen ready, she positions the slip of paper upright and inscribes the ultimate culmination of her thoughts.

苦あれば楽あり

Levi peers over, intrigued by the lines and strokes of her mother tongue.

Even her penmanship is a work of art.

He waits to comment until she has finished. "Adding a cultural touch to your lantern?" he remarks. "Classy." As always, of course.

"It's a Japanese proverb," Mikasa replies, maintaining modesty. " _Ku areba raku ari_."

Levi contemplates asking the meaning of the proverb, but dismisses the idea in favor of watching her amid the studious gaze they hold with one another. He rather prefers leaving something to the imagination, the silence between them somehow louder than words could ever be.

He can't help but warm at the sight of her now, her fingers grasping the edge of the lantern as she looks back up at the sky in anticipation.

The mere memory of her is something he hopes will stay with him for a lifetime.

_Birds of a feather…_

There's a sudden calmness in the crowd, prompting Levi to check the time on his watch.

Midnight is upon them, inciting the official countdown.

_Ten. Nine. Eight._

"Ready?" Levi asks, striking a match.

_Seven. Six. Five._

Mikasa nods, watching as Levi lights hers first and then his own.

_Four._

The lanterns are raised, but not yet released.

_Three._

Mikasa holds her breath. Waits.

_Two._

Her grip loosens…

_One_.

Thousands of lanterns are set free, floating in small orbs as they drift upwards into the cosmos and beyond. Each entity of individual expression lights up the late August foliage and lake underneath its rising trajectory, leaving a golden tint to everything in its wake as it ascends higher and higher still, disappearing into the unknown.

Levi and Mikasa are still watching from below, content.

As the golden hue quietly fades from the distancing lanterns, Mikasa tears her eyes away, her sights set elsewhere.

"Levi," she says softly. "Thank you."

Turning to face the raven-haired visionary, Levi offers a single nod in acknowledgment.

He'll never meet anyone quite like her. She's one of a kind.

Before anything else can be said or any other gestures can be exchanged, Mikasa steps forward, gently easing herself close to him. She's slowly guided into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder as she reciprocates the calm embrace.

_Just hold me_ , Mikasa thinks, her heart aching.

They stay raveled together, even after the golden luminescence has been replaced by silver moonlight.

Levi closes his eyes.

And he holds her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue is coming :)


	16. August - A Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The epilogue! It's really long lol I tried to keep it under 5k, but ended up with 14k words of summer shenanigans lol Sorry for the wait! But goodness gracious, I finally finished something and asdfghjkkl I don't know how to feel?! Happy? Sad? Everything?!  
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed, offered kudos, and gave this fic a chance :') It's cheesy, I get it, but I've had fun with it and hope you guys did too! :')  
> You may see a continuation of this... maybe not, I'm not sure yet... but the possibility is there! :)
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas! :) And have a happy new year!

The small town of Stohess Beach has always possessed an eerie charm, but never quite like this.

The mauve of the dusky sky intensifies, the clouds blushing at the warm touch of the sun. Below, the horizon is emblazoned in illustrious shades of scarlet, amethyst, and orange. The rolling hills adjoining the lower depths of the valley cast dancing shadows over a haven of rich green and cultivated earth. Rays of amber and gold spill over the turbulent waters of the outstretched sea, the celestial orb slowly descending before twilight beckons the stars. The relentless heat of the midday glow evaporates as calm winds steadily circulate in the air, the whirling patterns of a coastal breeze pushing onward with the tides. Waves of deep royal blue crash against the shore in a rhythmic percussion, back and forth, back and forth.

It's the perfect evening for a farewell soiree.

The twentieth annual End of Summer Luau brings yet another wonderful season for the small town to a close. Locals and tourists alike gather at the bustling Stohess Beach Club for the highly anticipated social event, the festivities mere moments away.

Tiki torches line the main entrance onward to a grand terrace, guiding eager patrons in an array of artistic fixtures ablaze in fiery embers. Round tables decked with white cloth are set up in an orderly manner, adorned with small candles at the center of each. A separate section marked  _'reserved'_  encompasses a row of cabanas kept specially arranged for larger groups, offering privacy from the crowded terrace. String lights are strewn above an adjacent dance floor, its tiles as pristine as alabaster. The juice bar is fully stocked and ready to accommodate. Several other vendors nearby begin setting up for games like limbo and the popular water balloon toss; games that are mostly for the kiddies but tend to have equal amount of adult participation as well.

Clearly, the locals have invested an incredible amount of time putting it all together, pouring their hearts and souls into the beloved annual event. Their hard work is certainly appreciated.

Arriving fashionably late to the party are four longtime friends, come to cherish these last few moments before going their separate ways.

Annie fashions a sky blue off-the-shoulder dress, fitted pleasantly at the bust as it falls elegantly to her feet. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun, save for her bangs and a few wavy tresses. A small necklace dangles above her chest, the ring from her father hanging below the silver chain.

Pieck dazzles in white lace, her summer dress grazing just below the knee in a soft tulle skirt. The scoop neckline offers a flattering visual of her slender frame, appraising the elegant lines of her collarbone. Her raven black hair flows freely in voluminous waves, as per her signature look.

Mikasa flaunts her svelte figure in a coral wrap dress, embellished with beige floral prints as it drapes into a sultry bodice. Capped with fluttering short sleeves, the lovely ensemble is secured at the waist via adjustable ties. The pink tones of the dress complement the porcelain hue of her skin, and her raven-black locks radiate an intensity so compelling that even hints of blue flicker under certain lighting. Her hair is parted to the side, styled in a meticulous braid.

And  _Ymir_ … although it had taken some convincing from her friends (and a couple 'pre-gaming' shots of tequila), she ultimately finds herself fitted in an olive green maxi dress, its plunging v-neckline meeting a strappy open back that praises her toned muscles rather aptly. The lightweight woven maxi skirt dons a slit on the side, allowing for a curious peek at her long, lean legs. Her hair is devoid of the usual clip to pin it back in a low ponytail, permitting her chestnut brown tresses to settle gently below her sharp jawline.

Their efforts prove far more satisfying than expected.

Arms linked with one another, the small group of friends each take a few confident steps forward before slowly coming to a halt, a strange cloud of conflicted emotions looming over them.

This is it. Their last night together. A farewell to another summer gone by.

Annie expels a deep breath, composing herself.

"Ready?" she asks, holding a brief gaze with each member of her entourage. The determination in her voice incites the reassurance that had momentarily dissolved upon arrival.

The momentary lapse in time feels surreal now, and the events that had taken place over the course of the past three months somehow manage to harbor a much deeper meaning than before. Yet they'll soon become no more than distant memories; memories of a time when this close friendship was the single entity that provided balance, stability, and solace in their lives.

Like everything in the world was all right.

They have one last night to relish in these enigmatic feelings. One last night to look back on a monumental phase.

Mikasa is the first to express her willingness to proceed. "Ready when you are," she asserts.

Pieck follows suit with an eager nod, leaving Ymir to be the last one to finalize the consensus.

"Let's party our asses off," she tuts, earning smiles all around.

Still linked together, they finally make their entrance into the highly esteemed establishment and commence the search for a table to settle their belongings. Before they can embark through an amassed crowd in pursuit of a possible site, the quartette is approached by someone of Mikasa's familiarity.

"Well it's good to see you all here," comes the sophisticated Kiyomi Azumabito's greeting. "And you all look so lovely tonight." The middle-aged woman has been a co-owner of the beach club for nearly a decade. Naturally, she exudes grace and polished etiquette, reminiscent of Mikasa's mother's side of the family.

"Auntie?" Mikasa's surprised at first, then consumed with elated relief as she's drawn in for a hug. "How have you been? And how was Hawaii?"

Kiyomi lets out a nostalgic sigh. "Oh, Hawaii was wonderful! We stayed at this little bed and breakfast in Lahaina and the  _views_  were just absolutely breathtaking." She smiles politely before rerouting her narration to that of familial chat. "Your mother and I had coffee this morning. She says you'll be leaving for school tomorrow."

Mikasa nods in confirmation, her lips twitching into a frown. "Yep. I have all my things packed and ready for move-in day." She makes an attempt to sound even a little hopeful, but the glum tone of her voice is hard to repress.

"Awh, look at you," Kiyomi gushes, hands brought up to squeeze Mikasa's shoulders. "All grown up. Soon you'll be a college grad! Your parents must be so proud!"

Mikasa opens her mouth to make an objection of sorts, to explain that her parents still have mixed feelings regarding her change of major.  _But_  she remembers that they had insisted they would support her no matter what, and they only wanted her to be happy.

Though it would take some time to fully convince them her decision would be well worth all the time and effort she's invested thus far, Mikasa thinks back to the very moment she came out with the truth. Neither her mother nor her father seemed shocked by the news. Perhaps they'd foreseen her revelation and had learned to accept it a while ago.

They've seen how happy she is when a camera is placed in her hands. Maybe they've known for a really long time.

Mikasa bows her head in resolve, confident. "I'm more than ready to move on and get my life started," she says. "I've been lucky to have my parents…" she pauses to address her entourage, "my friends…" and then her thoughts suddenly wander to Levi, "and my…" She strains for the right word. "My…  _mentor_  help me along the way."

The blush that creeps along her cheeks does not go unnoticed by her friends nor her aunt, leading to speculative hums and suggestive smirks.

"Mmmm?" Kiyomi flashes an evocative look. "Mentor?"

Mikasa omits the details, rewording the epithet. "Just… someone I respect and look up to."

"Definitely," Ymir sputters before being elbowed by Annie, a small cackle escaping the stiff restraint of laughter rising in her chest.

"I see," Kiyomi drawls in response, sporting an all-knowing grin. "It's necessary to have a good support system." She notices through peripheral vision that her associate has requested her assistance at the club's entrance. The conversation is cut short when she heeds the call to return to her position as co-hostess. "I'm afraid there are matters that require my attention," she informs the group of girls in her midst. "But there  _is_  one thing I have to show you." She beckons them to follow her, ultimately leading them to one of the several reserved cabanas.

"This," Kiyomi proclaims, "is reserved for you and your friends."

"Wait, what?" Ymir and Annie are in utter disbelief, whereas Pieck wastes no time making herself comfortable on the plushy seats enclosed within the cabanas hut, layered behind thin curtains.

Mikasa is equally stunned by the news, albeit pleasantly so. "Who made the reservation?" she asks incredulously.

Kiyomi brings her erected pointer finger to her mouth, an indication that her lips are sealed.

"They chose to remain anonymous," she replies, though Mikasa suspects her aunt very well knows their identity. "I must be off now, but be sure to see me before you leave."

Kiyomi plants a small kiss on Mikasa's cheek and then gradually makes haste for the beach club's entrance. Pivoting on her heel, she parts with, "Night, ladies. And please, enjoy yourselves."

Mikasa watches as her aunt disappears into the crowd, remaining stagnant outside of the cabana. Frozen in her idle state, she's unaware her friends are waiting inside the cozy confines of their reserved space.

"Nice of your aunt to hook us up with this sweet little joint," Ymir raves, finding bliss among the comfy lounge chairs. "This is so badass!"

"And look at that view!" Pieck points ahead towards the beach, all the while embodying the purest form of amazement.

Annie harmonizes with the shared gratitude, fixed on the crystal-like waters shimmering under the remnants of the setting sun. "The guys are gonna freak when they see this," she muses, a pair of vibrant green eyes instantly spurring to mind.

While the others seem to buy into the theory that Aunt Kiyomi had reserved the space for them, Mikasa can't shake the feeling that it's a mere diversion. Her friends might argue that it doesn't matter either way, but on the contrary, the absence of a solid conclusion gnaws away at her; denies the rightful validation she's due.

It's only by the narrowest of margins that she lets off from her suspicions, reasoning with herself she can always schmooze her way into getting  _someone_  to fess up.

Tonight, her focus is on her friends.

Mikasa treads lightly inside the cabana, wordlessly inspecting every square inch of their newfound accommodation.

"So…" Ymir refrains from indulging in sarcastic witticisms until Mikasa has taken a seat. "Who wants to do me the honor of being my dance partner when the DJ plays  _Sandstorm_  by Darude?"

The cabana is instantly filled with groans of disgust and despair. Ymir revels in the tasteless joke, fully expecting the local disc jockey to grace her ears with the familiar (god-awful and gut-wrenching) instrumentals when the time comes.

Mike Zacharias is capable of bringing down the house with some seriously awesome beats, but every now and then he'll pull some shady stunts and showcase his questionable ethics by spinning records of songs the layman absolutely detests.

In other words, the guy's a troll.

And  _Sandstorm_  is his preferred method of torture.

"I. Fucking. Hate. That. Song." Annie doesn't hold back one bit.

"Reminds me of our eighth grade dance back in middle school," Pieck comments absentmindedly. "Good times, good times."

"Yeah but at least they had the dignity to play the edited version." Mikasa rubs her temples in circular motions, as though tending to an inevitable headache. "Mike always plays the original- and it's  _seven minutes_  long by the way."

Ymir's thoroughly enjoying this, stretching out both arms above her head in relaxed fashion before slinging one around Pieck's shoulder.

They still have a long night ahead of them… and boy, is it going to be fun.

"Seven  _and a half_ , actually," Ymir jests.

"Smart ass."

* * *

Eren shows up a few minutes after the girls have established themselves in their private cabana.

That's roughly when Annie receives his text, a faint buzz inside her purse alerting her of the message.

 **6:17pm – Eren:**  I'm here. Where are you?

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness of her phone's screen. When she looks up from her phone (contemplating a creative response) she spots him across the beach club's terrace, mixing and mingling among the other lifeguards with minimal interest.

Annie smiles slyly to herself, noting how in between amiable banter with his co-workers he'll cast intermittent glances toward the main entrance. Funny thing is it's kinda cute. Seems like he's on the lookout for someone.

Pieck is perceptive enough to catch on to Annie's clandestine shenanigans. "Don't be cruel, Annie," she deplores, looking back and forth between her and Eren. "Aren't you going to say hi?"

Annie huffs in amusement. "Of course I will," she says. "I just can't help but admire how adorable he looks when he's confused. See that?" She nods ahead at the preoccupied gentleman in question. "He's like a lost puppy."

"You sadistic creep," Ymir barks. Before she can further chastise the blonde for her scheming ways, she suddenly hatches an idea, the disdainful tone in her voice shifting to that of mischief. "Might wanna hurry before someone else beats you to the punch. I heard that one of our seasonal lifeguards has a thing for him…"

Ymir's unable to finish her empty provocative threats as Annie has swiftly bolted from her seat, already halfway to meeting Eren face to face.

Ymir snickers, impressed by her own persuasive abilities. Then again, she's always been a phenomenal bullshitter.

"Not bad." Pieck offers the freckled lifeguard a high five. "Annie was gone in the blink of an eye."

That produces a single beat of laughter from Mikasa. "I don't envy anyone that gets in her way. She's a real woman on a mission."

Said woman is nearing the fulfillment of said mission, startling the green eyed brunet with a tap on the shoulder.

"Hey," is all Annie says when she reaches him.

"Hey," is all Eren says in return, staggered by the unprecedented emergence of the blonde and-  _fuck_ , now he's distracted by her dress, her necklace, her rosy lips…  _Wow… She looks gorgeous…_  "I… um… I tried to text you," he manages.

"I know," Annie replies in a simple manner. "But then I saw you and figured I'd save you the trouble of trying to navigate through this crazy mob."  _And Ymir tipped me off about the possibility of a few unsavory individuals…_

"So you were watching me?" Eren squints his eyes at her in feigned suspicion, stroking his chin. Alas, he can't help himself. "How long were you checking me out for?"

 _Since the day you walked into the godforsaken ice cream shop,_  Annie thinks.  _Dork_.

"Not long," she goes with instead, grabbing him by the hand. "Come on. Let's go meet up with the others. Mikasa's aunt hooked us up with our own cabana for the evening and-"

Before she can lead them away, Eren implores her to wait.

"Hold that thought, Annie," he says, bringing her back to face him. The once light-hearted visage he's upheld since her arrival has suddenly molded into something serious and… strange. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something… in private."

Annie physically tenses up, though her face is completely blank, devoid of emotion.

"Okay," she replies, a tad shakily. "Sure."

She's all-too familiar with these  _talks_. They usually start off with ' _we've had a lot of fun together_ ' and then end with ' _but maybe we should see other people_ ' or the oh so clever ' _it's not you, it's me_.'

Annie figures Eren is above such nonsense. While the brunet certainly seems nervous, she wonders if her preemptive concerns are misguided. After all, if there's one thing she's learned from him it's that not everyone has ulterior motives.

Any remaining fears are quelled when his smile slowly resurfaces, confirming what she's always believed. Eren isn't like other guys.

"You mean a lot to me," he begins, surprisingly tactful. "And I know you're going back to school and all, but I…"

Annie senses his hesitation, inching closer towards him. "But you what?"

Eren swallows down the lump flaring in his throat. "I'm not ready to let  _this_  go," he continues, reaching for her hands. "I'm crazy about you and I know it's stupid but… I'm afraid of losing you."

 _Oh, Eren._  Annie lets his words sink in, inwardly processing his confession.

"It's not stupid," she finally says, bringing her lips to his own. When they part from the chaste kiss, she expands on her thoughts. "Remember what I told you that morning we drove up to the lookout ridge?"

Eren nods upon recollection of that day- and the promise they'd exchanged with one another.

"I'll come back," Annie tells him, reiterating her intentions in honoring the solemn oath. "Because I want to be with you."

Eren's eyes light up, hopelessly smitten. "You do?" And, "You will?"

Annie trails her hand up to his face, cupping his jaw as her thumb traces along his cheek.

"Damn right I do," she replies. "And you know I will."

Falling short of any words to properly articulate all the intense emotions raging throughout his entire body, Eren throws his arms around her, hoisting her slightly above the ground in his fortified embrace.

Unsure what to expect at first, he had prepared an incredibly long speech about how he wanted to commit to an exclusive relationship with her, how he would do everything he could to keep them together, how much he cared for her, and how she was the only one who truly made him feel whole.

But Eren doesn't have to go to such lengths. Although the way Annie handles the revelation of her feelings is different (short, sweet, and to the point), the reciprocity is clear. Their sentiments, their hopes, and their expectations are mutual.

Alas, the speech would have been spectacular and gloriously cheesy, like something from a Nicholas Sparks book. A part of him is disappointed he'd been robbed of such theatrics.

Another part of him, however, wants to jump for joy or break into a little happy dance as a means of expelling the insurmountable buildup of energy.

But he'll settle with having Annie in his arms, the warmth of her body pressed against his.

"Does this mean I can start telling people you're my girlfriend now?" is the first thing Eren asks when they ease out of one another's grasp. "Because I've had several people ask me what exactly the nature of our relationship is and I didn't want to confuse them, but at the same time telling them we were only friends kinda sucked after a while…"

Annie gives the smile tugging at her lips some leniency, exhaling in liberation. "I guess," she replies impishly. "Gotta admit I like the sound of that."

 _Girlfriend_. It's official now.

Then again, their kisscam escapade at the baseball game in Liberio had been broadcasted for all to see, therefore it should have been obvious that she and Eren were in fact more than friends.

Speaking of friends…

Eren and Annie soon have company, finding themselves approached by four figures clad in classic summer attire of the masculine persuasion.

A burly blond, a tall brunet, and twins.

Reiner skips the 'hellos' and is quick to hurl a playful taunt Annie's way.

"Damn. Why are you always ditching your friends, Annie?" He smirks before addressing her plus one. "Or is Eren the one to blame for your treachery?"

"It's good to see you too, Reiner," Annie retorts, exchanging looks of contempt with Porco. He feels her pain- and can certainly relate.

"To be fair," Eren chimes in, looking back at Annie, "I just can't stay away."

He's finally had his cheesy Nicholas Sparks moment. Win!

Bertolt clears his throat, intercepting the topic at hand with one of relevance. Relevant to him anyway, as there's a certain someone he's looking forward to meeting up with.

"Are the others here already?" he asks.

"By 'others' do you mean 'Ymir'?" Reiner accentuates the freckled lifeguard's name liberally.

His mockery is otherwise ignored by Annie, although the background giggles from Reiner and Marcel are somewhat distracting.

"They're waiting for us at the cabana," she reveals with a nod, turning to face the direction that corresponds with her pivoted heel. "Apparently, one had been reserved for us."

The giggles fade upon the deliverance of rather intriguing news.

"Someone made the reservation for you guys?" Reiner sounds skeptical now, falling in step behind Annie's trajectory as the petite blonde leads the way, Eren on her arm.

"We think Mikasa's aunt reserved the space for us," she divulges, "but we're not exactly sure."

"Or maybe Mikasa's got a  _secret admirer_ ," Marcel suggests, wriggling both eyebrows. "Pieck mentioned something about a photographer."

"So  _was there_  anything going on between them… or…?" Reiner's voice trails off, looking at the others for any possible indication that he wasn't the only one who suspected  _something_  in bloom.

As the group approaches the cabana, Annie offers one last sentiment on the matter.

"Well you can always ask her yourself," she advises passively, motioning toward the unsuspecting raven-haired girl in question. The act subsequently alerts the cabana's current inhabitants of the sudden plethora of guests.

Annie waits for everyone to get acquainted and comfortable inside the hut-like structure. Pieck quickly pulls Porco over to cozy up with her on the same lounge chair, Marcel and Reiner settle themselves on either side of Mikasa, and Bertolt sits-  _wait_ …

Ymir seems to be missing from the equation.

"Where'd Ymir go?" Annie asks no one in particular.

"She went to the juice bar to get drinks," Pieck replies, snuggling against Porco.

"That's gonna be a lot to carry," Annie says, like the scenario is a problematic one. "Anyone wanna volunteer to help her out?"

A tall gentleman by the name of Bertolt Hoover needs no further encouragement.

"I'll go," he states emphatically, like a true hero set out to rescue the damsel in distress. Except, Ymir hardly fits the role, but Bertolt figures he's doing the honorable thing anyway.

It's the thought that counts.

After he's gone, a series of low chuckles circulate inside the curtain-laced structure.

"Well  _that_  wasn't a setup at all," Reiner snickers, his voice saturated in sarcasm.

* * *

In another setting, Bertolt has finally found Ymir- and he's simply awestruck.

She hasn't detected his presence yet, allowing for him to fully take in the enthralling sight of her from his clandestine position a few feet away, standing idly among other patrons.

She's engaged in light conversation with the juice bar host, the details of their exchange hard to make out. The sound of her voice carries over to him, prompting his heart to flutter at the familiar soothing tone. His eyes roam over the delicate features that seemingly harmonize with the olive green hue of her dress, his observation wandering from the strappy open back to her toned arms and narrow shoulders.

Bertolt's rather confident he's never known anyone so alluring… so fascinating.

When he finally collects himself, he gradually makes his way to the juice bar, pulling up alongside her at the counter.

He's welcomed with her trademark smirk as well as the cool gaze of her golden brown eyes.

"So you and the boys finally showed up," Ymir quips, casually readjusting the thin left strap of her dress before it can slip below her arm. "I take it everyone else is waiting on us now." She raises a brow as suspicion suddenly arises. "They put you up to this?"

Bertolt shakes his head, chuckling, although the thought that this meeting had somehow been orchestrated by his friends  _does_  cross his mind. "Someone has to help you carry everything, right?"

Ymir's lips form a pout, feigning disappointment. "And here I thought you just wanted to keep me company."

Bertolt's reply is not one she expects. "You never really struck me as the dependent type," he muses, though it's all in good fun. "Interesting."

"Believe me when I say  _I'm not_ ," she counters. "But it's nice having you around."

"Having me around only when it's convenient?" Bertolt persists, and then is quick to add, "We're supposed to be partners in crime."

That brings a laugh out of Ymir, though she's had enough of their aimless flirting. Given the rare window of opportunity, she'd rather skip the small-talk and get straight to the point. Tiptoeing around whatever's been brewing between them has gone on long enough, and in this fleeting moment of privacy she's hell-bent on finally addressing it.

"Fine then," she asserts, veering the conversation slightly off. "If I have to be the first one to admit how I'm feeling, then so be it." It's hard to tell if there's anyone in particular she's addressing.

A quizzical look replaces the relaxed expression on Bertolt's face. "What do you mean by that?" He has a pretty good idea where this is going… and he's anticipating it feverishly.

Ymir averts her gaze, sighing.  _Fuck it_. "These feelings that I have for you," she clarifies. "I'm tired of avoiding them."

 _Then don't_ , Bertolt thinks, though he figures it'd be best to let her explain, thus remaining silent.

"At first I thought all I wanted was something casual. A summer fling and nothing more." Ymir rotates her body to correlate with his, her demeanor taking on a firm stance. "I sorta sworn off relationships a while ago."

Bertolt runs a hand through his hair, and all Ymir can think about is how nice it looks when it's pushed back.

"You still feel that way?" he asks somberly, bringing her out of her pensive distractions.

Ymir waits to respond, the doubts that held her back from before now weakened to the point of no return. She's been waiting for the right time to let go and give in; to open herself up freely and wholeheartedly.

There's no denying the unrelenting force that keeps pulling them together like a magnet. Ymir still finds their initial attraction to be a mystery of its own, an inexplicable sensation welling up inside her at the mere memory of their first encounter. She's confounded she actually fell for the frivolous assumption that nothing more would develop from there on out. In spite of their relaxed approach, the sum of their time spent together has forced Ymir to reflect on the underlying meaning to the ache she feels every time she hears his name or his voice, every time she feels his presence or his touch.

It all leads to this very moment, and she welcomes whatever the outcome may be with open arms.

"No," she finally concedes, at ease. She steps forward a little closer, the space between them practically suffocating. "And it's all because I've finally met someone who can keep up with me."  _And *put up* with me simultaneously…_

Bertolt blinks a few times in acquiescence, allowing for a calm stillness to settle in spite of the clamoring partygoers and the commotion billowing from behind the juice bar. Warmed by Ymir's admission, he gives her a comforting half-smile.

He reaches for her hand, holding it gently.

"So that deal we made," he begins after a drawn out silence, "to stick together…"

Ymir nods, thinking back to their date at the boardwalk fondly. (Snoopy now claims a hefty portion of her bed.)

"Are you serious about it?" Bertolt asks. "About  _us_?"

A blush scatters along Ymir's cheeks, highlighting the constellation of freckles in faint crimson. She acknowledges that while she can appreciate that someone as kindhearted as Bertolt has this effect on her, it's going to take some getting used to.

 _Yes_ , she thinks, but the words have yet to follow.

There's so many things she wants to tell him, things that are hard to put into words. But she knows there's only one thing Bertolt wants to hear, and it's the simplest of affirmations.

Before she can so much as open her mouth the host returns with dual trays, both comprised of several glasses brimful of club soda. The host bids them farewell with a polite "enjoy" then scurries off to tend to other patrons, leaving the bashful 'partners in crime' alone with the awkward repression of unspoken words hanging in the air.

Despite the tension, the pair can't help but find their circumstances amusing on a slight, albeit unconventional, note. Hand still interwoven with hers, Bertolt lets out a small nervous chuckle, to which Ymir smiles ingenuously.

It's awkward, fuck, it's awkward. But they're too occupied with their shared sense of humor to really care.

When she gathers her thoughts again, Ymir clears her throat and motions toward the trays set before them on the counter.

"Um, Bert?" she says, bordering on reluctance. "Should we…?" She seems unsure where to go from there; whether or not they should resume the conversation or regroup with their friends (who are  _still_  waiting on them).

Bertolt nods in understanding. "We have all night to talk," he assures her, taking hold of the tray closest to him. "Come on. Everyone's waiting on us."

"Okay," Ymir musters out, voice uncharacteristically quiet. Then, more confidently, she concurs with, "Right."

As she follows him back to the cabana, she vows to rectify the unresolved tension between them once and for all.

She's been patient for a while.

* * *

"Sweet! The drinks are here! Oh-  _and_  Ymir and Bert!"

"Took you two long enough!"

"Maybe there was a long line at the juice bar…"

"Who cares?! I'm thirsty as fuck!"

Ymir and Bertolt avoid the bombardment as best they can, looking over at each other in silent compassion for themselves.

"Settle down, you ungrateful sluts," Ymir commands, placing the tray of drinks carefully on an adjacent table.

After everyone in the group has helped themselves to the array of beverages, Pieck alludes to an established end-of-summer tradition.

"Let's all make a toast," she entreats, reviewing the simple instructions. They'll go around one by one in a circle, allowing for everyone to share their hopes for the upcoming new school year.

"Before we get into that," Mikasa interjects, directing her inquiry at Reiner and Marcel, "What were you going to ask me?" She'd only caught Annie's recommendation that 'they ask her themselves', leaving the previous dialogue a mystery to her.

In lieu of it all, Reiner and Marcel seem to hesitate for a moment.

Then…

"Reiner was wondering why you're never interested in guys your own age," Porco says nonchalantly, after Reiner and Marcel fail to come up with some excuse to dodge the question. Pieck shoots him a look of disapproval, though he completely disregards it. He's hoping to see Mikasa sock it to the burly blond- or anything that ends with Reiner getting pummeled, in general.

Instead, Mikasa tucks a tuft of stray hair behind her ear and offers a condescending admission. "Easy. Guys our age are way too immature."

The (possibly) referenced gents inside the cabana (save for Reiner who breathes a sigh of relief) exaggerate their displeasure.

"Ouch."

"Wow."

"Gee, thanks."

The girls, on the other hand, remain neutral for the sake of cordiality. Though they won't say it out loud, they figure Mikasa's got a point.

"Well hey," Ymir begins, her throat swelling up from suppressing the monstrous urge to die of laughter, "that's  _one thing_  we can toast to." She raises her glass, hand twitching. "To the… er…  _progression_  of the dumbasses in our generation…"

That works.

"May they move on from their fuckboy ways!"

*cling*

_Cheers!_

"Interesting way to start things off," Porco mumbles sardonically. He realizes it's his turn and takes a more respectful approach to preserving their tradition, raising his glass once more. "To new friends."

*cling*

_Cheers!_

Pieck is up next. "To good grades and maintaining a solid 4.0!"

She's the only one smiling- unaware she's also the only one who has accomplished said feat throughout the duration of her academic career.

Still…

*cling*

_Cheers…_

Annie gives it a go. "To sweater weather and hot cocoa."

Eren follows suit. "To new beginnings and the upcoming harvest season."

Mikasa readies her glass. "To… the people we look up to and admire."

Bertolt smiles nostalgically. "To the memories we've made… and more to come."

Reiner surprises the lot with his sentimentality. "To the people I love. May they stay in good health."

Oh! But before he forgets-

"And to wrestling season!" Reiner adds, flexing his biceps. "Gotta train hard if I want to make it to the collegiate championships."

Of course.

*cling*

_Cheers!_

Marcel is the last of the group to make a toast, therefore the responsibility of concluding their heartfelt ritual with something truly poignant falls on him. No pressure. He can't let the crew down with an underwhelming declaration.

He raises his glass and settles on quite the finale.

"To being ridiculously good-looking," comes his passionate salute. "May this perfect tan never fade!"

The cabana teems with sighs, utterly wrought with disappointment and despair. Save for Ymir, who meets Marcel's glass with her own in an endorsement of sorts.

"I'll drink to that," she shamelessly approves.

*cling*

Porco shakes his head, deriding his brother. "How are we related?!"

"Well you two look exactly the same," Pieck says with a shrug, noting the striking resemblance between their button noses for the umpteenth time. It's not even worth mentioning, as it's plainly obvious. "Minus the difference in hair color." That's about it. One's blonde, one's brunet.

(If one really wanted to get technical, Marcel tans easier than Porco, but now they're really grasping for straws.)

"Should we go around one more time?" Mikasa asks dryly, slightly amused by the dreadful looks she's earned from the suggestion. "For good measure?"

A collective round of ' _Nopes'_  encircle the raven-haired girl, offering a bold consensus. She's hardly surprised.

_I thought not._

As if on cue, bright lights suddenly flash to illuminate a small stage across the terrace, the figure of a devilishly handsome man at the center. Predictable enough, he serves as the emcee for the evening's festivities, come to announce his presence. Clad in the most flamboyant Hawaiian shirt ever known to man, he's instantly recognizable.

Erwin Smith.

Smith wastes no time listing off the schedule of events and what to look forward to if one's pining for a little recreation. He's also sure to include DJ Mike's status in setting up his booth, the prospect of summer jams very well on their way.

Before departing from the stage, he thanks everyone involved in the organization and production of the event, and emphasizes how their support as a whole keeps their town 'the great place that is Stohess Beach.'

"Now who's ready to dedicate their hearts to having a good time?" he belts into the mic, riling up the crowd.

Tourists and locals alike cheer wildly, chanting their deafening support.

"All right! The End of Summer Luau is officially on!"

* * *

When Emcee Erwin Smith returns to the stage, it's to announce the first competition for the evening's recreational activities.

Limbo.

The announcement calls to Pieck on a spiritual level.

"Pock!" she enthuses in earnest. "You  _have_  to do this with me!"

Porco doesn't exactly share the same enthusiasm she does, and therefore needs a little more convincing than that. "I don't know, Pieck…" He looks over at possible candidates to fill in for him.

Eren and Annie are invested in lively conversation with Ymir and Bertolt, going over things they'll miss most and what they look forward to aaaaaand other stuff Pock doesn't particularly care about. (Also, limbo and Bertolt Hoover? Not good bedfellows.) Marcel and Reiner are out of the question- plus it looks like they're getting ready for the upcoming water balloon toss.  _Figures_. Moving on… There's  _Mikasa_ …

Maybe she'll take one for the team.

"Oh my god," Mikasa gasps after checking the time on her phone. "I gotta go help set up the photo booth. I promised my aunt I would lend them a hand." She leaves the cabana in a hurry, promising to return soon before slipping away.

 _Welp… Never mind_.

Porco thinks the otherworldly powers of the universe are out to get him.

Pieck loops her arm with his, eyes sparkling innocently. "Come on, Pocky," she pleads. "It'll be fun!"

Heaven help him. She purrs like a goddamn kitten.

It takes a moment for Porco to finally give in, albeit reluctantly so. How can he say 'no' to her when she looks at him that way? Easy. He can't.

"Okay, okay," he relents, prompting Pieck to squeak with delight.

No sooner than they barely stand to their feet, Pieck begins hauling them away, weaving through the masses of people to get to the limbo stage. Upon nearing the site, the duo is met with familiar neighborhood kids- adorable little punks who live on the same block they do.

"Pieck! Porco!"

Two young girls come running towards them, flailing themselves into their arms.

"Woahhh there, Gabi." Porco's taken by surprise, then half-smiles a bit awkwardly at Reiner's little cousin when she looks up.

Pieck squeezes the girl hugging her in return. "You look so cute," she coos, ruffling the young blonde's hair. "I like your dress, Zophia."

"Thank you," the youngster replies. "Are you ready to limbo?"

Pieck happily affirms with, "Sure am." Looking over at Porco, she adds, "Pock's gonna give it a try, too."

Before Porco can comment on his reluctance to participate, Gabi grabs him by the hand.

"Let's get in line!" she demands, urging Pieck and Zophia to follow. "It's a lot longer than last year."

Porco complies, taken aback by the lengthy extension of people partaking in this particular activity.

Pieck, in contrast, remains unworried. She's more than confident in her abilities.

The competition has yet to begin even after they've settled themselves in line. Smooth reggaeton beats accompany the influx of volunteers, come to set up two vertical poles and a single horizontal bar to be placed atop in varying adjustments.

The volunteers are still making a few modifications to the setup when Pieck and Porco are greeted by two more kids from the neighborhood; two brothers, one the same age as Gabi and Zophia, the other a soon-to-be senior in high school.

"Falco?" Gabi scoffs. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Falco replies, equally vexed. "I'm here for limbo."

As bickering between the two youngsters ensue, Pieck and Porco fixate their attention to the eldest son of the Grice family.

"Colt! You're finally back from the retreat!" Pieck gives him a hug before prying for more details. "How was it? You were gone for a whole month!"

Colt shoves his hands into his pockets, notably relieved to be back home. "It was a little weird at first, not going to lie," he begins. "But I met some really cool people and I was able to do some real soul-searching, you know? It's like my understanding of my beliefs are lot more clear now."

Porco gives him a pat on the back, commending his sincerity. "Gotta give you props for behaving yourself. The one and only time my parents sent me and Marcel on a church retreat, we almost got caught smoking pot behind our cabin."

"You're terrible," Pieck laughs.

At first, Colt gives Porco a look that reads ' _I'm gonna go pray for your soul_ ,' but it's no use. He too is thrown into a fit of laughter.

"I really missed this town," he says when the laughter has subsided.

* * *

The starting height for the bar poses hardly any difficulty at all.

Falco, Gabi, and Zophia simply walk underneath it, the brim of their heads an entire foot below the bar itself.

Pieck's head is a few inches' shy of the bar, and therefore she's able to walk underneath without even tilting the base of her neck. Porco and Colt on the other hand have to lean back just a smidgen, given their taller frames.

The second height fails to eliminate any participants as well, still too high to prove even remotely challenging.

The time in between each turn allows for Gabi and Falco to engage in heated banter, an apathetic Zophia keeping her distance from their juvenile antics.

"I'm gonna win this competition!" Gabi declares, flaunting confidence with the assertive placement of her hands on her hips. "You don't stand a chance, Falco!"

"Guess I'll just have to prove you wrong then," Falco retorts, ignoring a swarm of her insults as he commences a series of stretches.

When she's no longer getting any sort of reaction from him, Gabi conducts her own stretches; proving her flexibility to be far superior.

Unaware of the tension between the two, Pieck joins their unconventional preparation for the next turn, focusing on the lower muscles of her back. She then offers to help Zophia get a good stretch in before she's up, inviting the blonde into the mix to establish a camaraderie of sorts.

Colt keeps a watchful eye on his brother, simultaneously conversing with Porco about their mutual affinity for the beloved sport of baseball- except the topic takes a grim turn.

"Ever since you and Marcel graduated," Colt says dejectedly, "the team hasn't been the same."

Porco folds his arms across his chest, thinking back to his time as shortstop for his high school team. He smirks to himself. Must have been doing something right. Now he's shortstop for his college team.

However, it turns out the old stomping grounds haven't been nearly as fortunate.

"We were 11-8 last year," Colt continues, shaking his head. "Our coach was devastated when we lost our last conference game."

Porco recommends a solution to help ease Colt's dissatisfaction. "If you're unhappy with the way things are going, you can always look into U18 divisions."

"Like a premier team?" Colt asks curiously. "Don't they make you try out for those, too?"

"Hell yeah. The leagues get pretty intense, but that's kinda the point. It's for kids who take the sport seriously," Porco replies. "I played for the Liberio Diamondbacks for a few summers to keep myself conditioned."

Colt nods in recollection, whistling. "The Diamondbacks don't mess around."

"No they do not," Porco mumbles, internally sifting through all the blood, sweat, (no tears because he doesn't have time for any of that) he'd put into years of training.

His heart is set on the majors. So long as he keeps at it, he'll get there one day.

Porco moves on from his inward ruminations and is about to ask Colt what his plans for college are when he suddenly realizes that he's up next for the limbo bar.

This particular rotation requires him to prepare both mentally and physically for the execution. The bar's been lowered a couple feet since the first height, somehow a puzzle all of its own.

"You can do it, Pock!" Pieck pops up from behind, squeezing his shoulders before planting a small kiss on his cheek. "I believe in you!"

Now Porco finds himself blushing like a crazed schoolgirl, visibly flustered. Still, he's able to collect himself and step toward the limbo bar, waiting for the right moment to bend. Though it takes some considerable amount of balance, Porco maintains a steady walk and keeps himself composed, successfully completing his turn.

He might be struggling to keep up, but he's not half-bad at this, surprisingly.

 _Phew!_  he thinks as he reverts to full height.

As he heads towards the back of the line, Pieck offers a high five. "You're doing amazing, sweetie," she says, winking.

Porco accepts celebratory high fives from the kiddies behind her as he makes his way down, all the while extending his support for Colt.

"Come on, man. You got this!" he calls out.

Colt grimaces at the bar ahead of him, closing his eyes as he steps forward. Only by the narrowest of margins does he make it under successfully, though he's convinced his next turn will be his last.

When he reaches Porco at the back if the line, he joins him in cheering for Pieck.

Next in line and ready to go, Pieck aces the height on beat with the lively music, making the feat look easy. The customary grin on her face confirms that she's thoroughly enjoying herself.

Emcee Erwin Smith, who serves as both an official and a commentator for this event, praises Pieck for yet another successful rotation.

"This young lady is going to be a tough one to beat," he warns the others in the line. "A worthy opponent for those of similar caliber."

 _Why does he sound like a commander addressing a group of recruits?_  Porco thinks in disdain.  _It's weird as fuck_.

Pieck is all smiles as she saunters on down to the back of the line, maintaining a humble disposition in spite of all the attention. Such a classy lady, indeed.

The kiddos breeze through their respective turns with ease, still waiting for the bar to pose any sort of challenge whatsoever.

By the time every one in line has had their turn, several more people have been eliminated, narrowing the competition little by little…

It takes a few more rotations to weed out the remaining weaklings, the once friendly game of limbo turning into an all-out war for some fierce participants. Colt finds himself disqualified after attempting the bar at three and half feet, his nose grazing the thin pole as he fails to bend any further back.

When the bar is lowered to three feet above the ground, the line dwindles drastically.

Alas, Porco comes face to face with the bar once more, his determination immediately shattered. He stares at the dual posts and the thin pole positioned horizontally across in utter disbelief, mulling over all the possible ways someone could potentially break their back in attempting to clear this treacherous height.

Three feet. Three measly feet.

Fuck, it's so low…  _too_  low.

The music is building up in anticipation, the beat of the drums rumbling faster and faster… louder and louder. The tiki torches seem to burn brighter than before, its flames swelling with higher intensity.

It all seems to strive for a climax, waiting for the ultimate release.

Porco takes a single step forward- but then immediately retracts. He stops and shakes his head.

"Nope."

It's just not gonna happen.

He concedes defeat, excusing himself from the competition with a casual walk off the stage.

He knows well and when to throw in the towel.

 _You had a good run_ ,  _Galliard_ , he thinks to himself.  _You got further than you thought you would_.

And that's good enough for him.

Gabi is less than thrilled, quick to voice her displeasure. "Boo!" she hoots.

Aside from the one unimpressed critic, Porco is surprised to hear a sudden round of applause in his honor, following him as he hops off stage and meets up with Colt.

Amid the congratulatory cheers, he's able to identify Pieck's chirpy whistling, delaying her turn so she can stop and clap in full support of his immersion in the world of party games.

Porco looks back at her, and smiles.

* * *

It's down to the final five in the limbo competition. The bar is taken down another notch for the next round. Erwin shimmies over to the five remaining competitors, Gabi, Falco, and Pieck included, and signals for the music to start up again.

" _How low can you can go!"_  the spectators chant.

Pieck's up first, aligning herself directly at the center of the dual poles. Not missing a beat, she sinks lower and lower to the ground, exceeding all expectations with the impeccable execution of her flexibility, the entire upper half of her body parallel to the stage. Assuming total control of her elongated limbs, she glides under the horizontal pole with finesse, recovering from the contortion in majestic haze.

She's successfully cleared two and half feet.

The spectators watch in awe, mesmerized by her hypnotic movements. Among them stands Porco, who's equally fascinated by the woman of his dreams. Watching how incredibly limber she is, how calm she keeps her visage, how delicate and poised she appears when rising back to full height… Now he understands why some people consider flexibility to be a huge turn on.

He snaps himself out of his trance when Gabi steps up for her turn.

The young brunette pauses to strategize her approach, fine-tuning her depth perception from the point at which she's distanced herself. Though it takes slightly longer for her to pass under the bar than she had hoped, she draws out a deep sigh of relief upon completion and remains bolstered in confidence, utterly certain she will come out of this as the sole survivor.

Falco pursues the painstakingly difficult endeavor with feverish resolve, his tenacity ultimately guiding him successfully under the bar. Despite the minor discomfort, he pushes onward, eyeing the trophy mounted on a pedestal opposite the stage.

When the height's lowered to two feet, only Pieck, Falco, and Gabi are left.

Porco, Colt, and Zophia position themselves at the front of the amassed crowd, attaining the best view possible.

"Who do you think's gonna win?" Colt asks, stumped.

"Probably Gabi," Zophia infers.

Porco's devoted a little more time into sizing up the competitors. "Gabi's a shrimp so she has an advantage," he says. "But so is Falco and he's been pretty consistent this whole time." He pauses before commenting on the last contestant. "And Pieck's kicking ass. So who knows? It could be anyone's game at this point."

He doesn't want to seem biased, so he opts to root for Pieck in silence.

As the trio wait patiently for the suspense to unfold, the music starts up again. It's go-time for Pieck.

She bends at her hips from side to side, front and back, testing her pliability from every angle. Slowly, she dips to the ground, taking cautious steps forward. She attempts to distribute the buildup of pressure evenly, but can already feel her knees buckle under the weight. Unsure how much more she can endure, Pieck gives in to the sweet release of falling back into the padded mat, sighing in ecstasy.

She can settle for third place.

Satisfied with her performance, Pieck stands back up and bids Gabi and Falco good luck. Before she vacates the stage, she's approached by a volunteer and quickly awarded a couple of floral novelties. Cheers and salutes follow her good-natured spirit until she settles herself between Porco and Colt, pulling Zophia in her embrace.

"That was unbelievable," Colt applauds. "You're like a rubber band."

Pieck accepts the praise modestly. "All those morning stretches proved worthwhile, I guess."

All eyes return to the stage, highlighting the ultimate rivalry of the evening's event.

Gabi and Falco.

"This is the final round. It's down to these last two contestants!" Erwin orates to the crowd as though the outcome dictates the fate of the world.

Hoots and hollers swarm the assemblage of spectators, the clamoring lot seemingly divided in who they think will surpass the other to victory. With bets placed accordingly, the two youngsters on stage ready themselves for the two-foot mark.

Gabi assumes the position, cracking her knuckles. Carefully, she levels herself with the bar and advances in slow strides, her knees sinking lower and lower. Her ankles are turned at a slight angle, proving it difficult to maintain full functionality of her legs. Her back is bent to the furthest extent, but as she draws nearer to the bar, it comes as a great shock when it's still not enough.

_I can do it. I can do it. I can do it…_

Right after her chin makes its way under, she feels the tip of her nose slowly scrape the bar.

And she knows it's over.

_Nooooooo!_

"Good effort, but I'm afraid you're disqualified!" Emcee Erwin winces at Gabi's misfortune, then steadily aims his pointer finger at Falco. "If you can make it through this last round, you will be this year's limbo champ!"

Zophia gasps in bewilderment. "Falco actually has a chance!"

Up on stage, a determined Falco sets his sights on achieving victory. He knows it won't be easy, but if he wants to beat Gabi and take home first prize, he'll have to put a little more faith in himself. Even with the entire crowd watching him, his only fear stems from the glare Gabi terrorizes him with on the opposing side of the stage.

Falco gulps. It's not until he hears his brother's voice that the overwhelming rush of emotions begin to simmer down.

"Go Falco!" Colt shouts, initiating a string of cheers as tribute. "Falco! Falco! Falco!"

Soon, Pieck and Porco follow suit, then Zophia, and then a plethora of enthusiastic supporters behind them, clapping to a steady rhythm.

Falco's heart beats a mile a minute. Surrounded by positive reinforcement, he decides he's ready to press on.

He initiates a meticulous approach toward the center of the bar, advancing in slow tentative movements. He holds his breath as he bends over backward, his hands leveled on his thighs for balance.

"He's halfway there!" Pieck clenches her fists in excitement.

Falco suddenly stops, frozen in his contorted position. Briefly, he contemplates his next move before coming to a hefty conclusion. It's a gamble, but if he times it out right and maintains a solid drive, he just might be able to pull it off. He closes his eyes, tunes out the boisterous music, and inhales deeply.

He gives his head one last tilt and hurriedly thrusts himself ahead, his entire body rocketing underneath the bar in a single fluid range of motion.

The tricky maneuver ultimately seals his victory.

_I did it!_

The beat of a drum and the emcee's booming voice finalize the competition.

"We have our winner!"

Falco Grice, 2017 Stohess Beach Limbo Champ.

* * *

The crowd disperses from their collective gathering at the stage, some returning to their respective groups, others waiting nearby the dance floor for DJ Mike to return from his snack break.

Pieck and Porco indulge in a leisurely stroll back to the cabanas, the animated bickering between Falco and Gabi fading as they drift further from the stage.

Porco catches a small glimpse of Falco posing with his trophy, avoiding Gabi's mockery as best he can to maintain good sportsmanship.

Porco shakes his head, looking away. Gabi is too thick-headed to realize that Falco has a fat crush on her, and sadly, it may take a while for her to figure it all out.

Maturation will hopefully be her wakeup call.

His meditative brooding is interrupted when Pieck links her arm with his, frivolously toying with the trinkets she'd earned for getting third place.

"These are pretty cute, aren't they?" she asks, not expecting an answer.

Porco glances down at the novelties in her grasp, brows raised. There's a flower crown and an embellished lei, courtesy of the local flora no doubt.

Suddenly, he's sidetracked again. His thoughts return to Gabi and her ignorance, subsequently reminded of how oblivious he'd been for so long. In her defense, Gabi's only a kid, thus her actions are justifiable.

But Porco's moved on from such linear (and often selfish) ways of thinking.

He's since vowed to never take his relationship with Pieck for granted, and to never leave  _anything_  unsaid.

Headstrong in his convictions, Porco clears his throat and slows their pace down a bit.

"Pieck?" His expression softens.

"Mmmm?" Pieck gives him her undivided attention.

"I just want you to know," he begins, averting his gaze, "I'm glad you're a part of my life."

Pieck smiles, wondering where this sudden emergence of sentimentality has come from. But hey, she certainly won't complain either way.

She kisses him on the cheek, bringing their slow pace to a stop. "You're sweet," she whispers, positioning herself in front of him. "I love it when you do that."

Porco perks his head up. "Do what?"

"When you tell me how much I mean to you," Pieck chirps, stifling a small chuckle. "And then you do this adorable thing with your lips and look away because you don't want me to see you blush…"

"I don't do any of that," Porco dismisses nervously. His lips quiver, and he promptly looks away… because he doesn't want Pieck to see him blush.

Pieck merely panders in the glorious sight of his bashful state and gently hooks her fingers around the collar of his shirt with her free hand, bringing his face down to meet hers. She envelops his lips in a tender kiss, to which he's more than willing to return with equal delicacy.

When they part, Pieck trails her hand across the soft fabric over his chest, entertaining thoughts of the muscles hidden underneath.

"I like this shirt," she says, contemplating when she'll get around to wearing it herself. "You look good in it."

Porco admires her flirtatious tendencies. "I look better without," he responds, assured.

"I know, right?" Pieck figures it's common knowledge in their small town.

She pauses to peer down at the trinkets hanging from her hand, believing they could possibly add some tropical flair to his attire.

"You know what might complete the look though?" she asks, lifting the floral novelties up in either hand.

Porco raises a brow, having pieced it all together. "Not the flower crown," he grumbles. "There's no way I can pull that off."

"Then  _this_ ," Pieck declares, raising the lei over and above his head, "will have to do."

Porco fumbles with the lei draped over his neck, fidgeting with it the way one would if its floral elements were rigged with an explosive. Brushing off the ridiculous thought, he finds a silver lining in that at least the color matches his shirt.

He gives Pieck a tentative nod, gesturing toward the flower crown in her hand. "Your turn," he tells her.

Pieck hands it over to him, bowing her head as he delicately fastens the floral accessory above tufts of voluminous dark hair.

As she looks back up, Porco finds himself tense again. All he can think about is how beautiful she really is. With soft grey eyes, their exuberant warmth feathered under dark lashes, and rosy complexion, smooth to the touch- it renders him speechless for a moment.

"How does it look?" Pieck asks, eager for some feedback.

_Perfect. It's perfect._

Falling short of an audible response, Porco cups her jaw with his hand and leans in to kiss her again. Just as he's about to assail her with a demanding lip-lock, the sound of Colt's voice instantly kills the mood.

"Hey- ohhh… uhm…" Colt freezes, a tad embarrassed. "I'm sorry… am I interrupting something?"

The moment's gone now, but Porco gets over it in a matter of seconds.

"What's up?" he asks, slightly perturbed.

Colt clears his throat, the look on his face somewhat apologetic. "Marcel was looking for you. He wanted to know where you'd wandered off to."

 _Dammit._  The first round of the water balloon toss must be over.

Porco dispels a frustrated sigh. "If you see him, tell him Pieck and I are heading back to the cabana."

"Cabana?!" Gabi sprouts from seemingly out of nowhere. "I wanna see it!"

"I wanna come, too!" Zophia says, having eavesdropped as well. "I wanna say hi to Reiner and Marcel!"

Falco scurries into the mix behind Colt, a hopeful expression etched on his face.

Pieck and Porco exchange looks with one another, realizing their entourage has gained a few more members.

"The more, the merrier," Pieck quotes, shrugging.

 _Guess it couldn't hurt_ , Porco thinks, welcoming the group of meddlesome kids aboard.

"Okay then," he relents. "Right this way."

* * *

The DJ starts the night off with Will Smith's summer hit  _Miami_  just as Pieck and Porco return to the cabanas to rejoin the group.

The youngsters trailing behind them treat the arrival as a reunion, bursting into excitement when they come face to face with the others.

Gabi instinctively leaps toward Reiner, squealing in elation. Zophia hurls herself at Annie, catching the stoic blonde off guard. Falco sticks nearby Colt as they greet Bertolt, having gone weeks without seeing one another.

"Dude, where'd you guys go?" Marcel asks his brother after the youngsters have settled down. "And what is  _that_?" He points at the lei draped flatly on his chest.

Before Porco can answer, Ymir cracks a joke truly fitting of her character.

"Ha! What does it look like?" she laughs. "Porco got  _lei'd_!"

Porco glares emptily at nothing in particular, face-palming himself when a response finally does arise. "Pieck wanted to limbo," he says in dismissal. "That's where we met everyone else."

"How was the water balloon toss?" Pieck turns to address Marcel, furtively noting Reiner's shirt is completely different from the one he had arrived in.

"It sucked," Marcel laments. "Reiner ruined it for us! We had it won but then he had to go butterfingers on me at the last second!"

Reiner's ego is utterly thrashed, but he conceals his emotions. "There'll be another round at 9:00," he grunts. "We can still take home first prize."

Marcel shakes his head, fuming. "There's no way I'm partnering up with you again." He signals toward Colt for all to see. "Colt and I are gonna tear it up!"

"I… what?" Colt had agreed to no such thing.

Reiner crosses his arms over his chest in opposition. "Whatever. I'll just partner up with Porco then."

Porco finds the mere suggestion utterly repulsive. "Not happening," he remarks coldly. If worse comes to worse, he can always force Bertolt or Eren to be his partner.

"I'll be your partner, Reiner," Falco interjects upon seeing him in disenchantment.

_The world doesn't deserve such a precious bean…_

Reiner suppresses the urge to break down into tears of joy, insistent on preserving his austere game-face.

"We'll kick their asses, Falco," he vows, offering the kid an explosive fist-bump.

"Language…!" Colt mumbles.

His attempt at policing the implementation of curse words proves to be a fruitless endeavor, though he too finds himself distracted when the music changes tune.

DJ Mike segues into Calvin Harris'  _Slide_ , which immediately jolts Marcel from his seat.

"Reiner!" he shouts in a barbaric frenzy. "This is  _our song_!"

But Reiner remains unmoved. "Thought we weren't partnering up anymore," he scoffs.

Marcel daintily caresses the blond's hand, then seizes it with urgency.

"Reiner," he says, voice husky and oddly seductive. " _Our song_!"

Reiner  _wants_  to brush him off and continue brooding in his own stubbornness. But Marcel's heavenly brown eyes blink squarely at him, illuminating the infamous kicked-puppy look.

Weakened to his very core, Reiner gives in. He always gives in to the kicked-puppy look.

"You bastard," he mutters, lovelorn. "You always come crawling back to me."

The blond gives everyone a wave after rising from his seat, pumping one fist in the air as Marcel drags him to the dancefloor in a crazed hurry.

Ymir quickly finishes her drink and follows suit, taking Bertolt's hand with her own.

"This'll be fun," she coaxes, jetting them both off in time to reach the floor before the first verse has ended.

The others watch from their comfortable positions inside the cabana, some specifically waiting for the right song to come on. Eren and Annie appear to be indecisive, unsure whether they're ready to partake in the hilarity going on in the distance just yet.

Ymir and Bertolt's dancing is kept fairly tame, lively as ever and rhythms in sync with one another. Reiner and Marcel on the other hand are practically freak-dancing.

Annie hates herself for staring too long, but she just can't look away.

"Let's wait a few more songs," Annie advises after careful consideration. Eren seems to be in agreement until he finds himself being propositioned by eager younglings.

"Mister Eren! Come dance with us!" Gabi and Zophia plead with everything they've got. "Please! Everyone else is already dancing!"

Eren's eyes widen to their maximum circumference. He looks at Annie for help, but to no avail. If anything, the amused smirk spread across her face suggests she'd actually encourage him to oblige their request.

Eren shrugs. Whether it's the upbeat music streaming from the speakers or the looks the two impressionable youngsters are giving him, he'll never know.  _But_ , when the real party mood kicks in, he ultimately settles on heeding the call.

Except he's not sure how to feel about the 'Mister Eren' title…

"All right," he chuckles, looking back at Annie. "Guess I'm dancing with these troublemakers."

"I'll meet you there," Annie assures him, watching as he's towed away by an enthusiastic Gabi and Zophia.

With Eren off to expand his dancing horizons, Annie claims the seat next to Pieck, surprised to see that Colt and Falco have left for the dancefloor as well.

In their place, however, Mikasa has returned from helping with the photo booth, slumping into the lounge chair after treating herself to a well-earned drink.

"You missed a lot, Ackerman," Annie deadpans, stealing once last glance at Eren. The guy can't dance to save his life, but he's having fun and that's all that really matters.

Mikasa gapes at their surroundings. "Aside from getting ditched, what else did I miss?"

Annie tilts her head from side to side, listing off a generalized report. "Bert and Ymir are planning some sort of road trip. Eren might help my dad at the shop while I'm gone. Marcel and Reiner had a hard time with the water balloon toss." She's missing something… Ah, yes. "And Pieck got third in limbo."

That gives Mikasa another reason to raise her glass. "Congrats," she says, directing her remark towards the petite girl in question. "Being a freaky contortionist certainly has its perks, doesn't it?"

Pieck nods, proud. "Don't get me wrong, flexibility helps in limbo but there's definitely a strategy to it that most people are unaware of."

"There is?" Porco furrows his brows.

"Yeah, I mean it's mostly about balance and agility," Pieck explains. "You want to move as quickly as possible or else you'll strain your back and the muscles in your legs. You never want to look up either, it's best to tilt your head back…"

Pieck drones on for a hot minute, though it's a habit of hers to break everything down to its most primitive form.

"You've really got this whole thing down to a science," Porco exhales, somewhat impressed. Is this what it means to be sapiosexual?

"To be fair," Annie reasons, "that's… expected of her."

"Okay, I admit, maybe I'm overanalyzing it," Pieck digresses, shaking her head in dismissal. "I'm talking too much again, sooooo I think that means it's time."

"Time for what?" Porco asks.

"Well now that Mika's back we can all meet up with the others on the dancefloor." Pieck sets her sights on the swarm of hustling bodies ahead.  _What the-?_

Among them is their high school chemistry teacher getting down with Hange, the eccentric owner of the local diner, but she holds off from verbalizing the discovery.

This town is too small.

Mikasa passes on the suggestion for the time being, an inexplicable sadness coming over her. "Maybe later," she says. "I kinda wanna relax for a sec."

Annie moves only to settle in the lounge chair with Mikasa, sharing a similar outlook on the prospect of loud music and wild partygoers. "Ackerman and I will hold down the fort. You two have fun." She shoos the love birds off in encouragement.

No sooner than Pieck and Porco walk away from the cabana, Annie's already trying to interpret the hard-to-read gaze engraved on Mikasa's delicate features.

"I'm more of a slow-dance kinda gal anyway," Annie says in an attempt to bring Mikasa out of her dismal reverie.

It works. Barely. "Same," Mikasa sighs.

Annie tries again, this time taking a blunt approach to deciphering her mood. "Come on," she drawls. "What's got you so serious all the sudden?"

Mikasa perks her head up. "What?"

"What are you thinking about?" Annie inquires.

The better question would be ' _Who_?' but Mikasa keeps that to herself.

The answer comes in the form of a man with an equally steely gaze, jet-black hair styled in an undercut…

Mikasa yearns to see Levi.

She's reluctant to admit that out loud, and therefore remains evasive.

"That's a loaded question, Annie," is the best she can do.

Annie lays off from further prying, having reached a plausible conclusion to what's been weighing on her mind. She ponders several tactics she can use to get her to the dancefloor with the others as a means of distraction, but her meticulous planning is interrupted when Mikasa speaks up again.

"I'm glad you found someone like Eren," she says quietly. "He's good for you."

Annie's mouth drops slightly agape, taken aback. The remark prompts her to scan through the crowd of people behind them.

When her eyes land on Eren and his terrible dancing, she revels in the warmth rising in her chest.

It brings a smile to her lips. "Yeah, he is," she whispers.

* * *

The sun has already set when the music takes on a slower beat.

A soft, sweet tune from indie folk band Bon Iver escalates the romantic ambiance as nightfall swaths the sky in encroaching darkness. In the gathering gloom, the stars and a half moon glint iridescently above, twinkling with luminous fervor.

The setting serves as the perfect backdrop for what Ymir hopes will be a continuation of some unfinished business, the environment seemingly lending itself to romance.

Ymir's grasp on the concept is limited, but between the soft melody of an acoustic guitar and the way Bertolt gently holds her by the waist, she's convinced her attraction to him has evolved into something much deeper.

She's ready to act on her feelings now, but a single question hounds the deepest crevasses of her mind, seeking release from their pent-up state.

"Bert," she says quietly. "I just want to know  _one_  thing."

Bertolt brings her in a little closer, still swaying slowly with the music.

"Anything," he assures her.

Ymir straightens her posture, anticipation eating away at her. She risks the reveal of her vulnerable side, unflinching.

"Would you really want to travel with me?" she asks. "Get out of this small town and see the world like we talked about?"

Bertolt blinks a few times, half-smiling. Then…

"I'd go anywhere with you," he says. "As long as we're together, that's all that matters."

His words provide the closure she's been longing for. And  _now_ , it feels like the right moment to satisfy an unfulfilled desire.

Ymir leans in closer, brushing her lips against his. The kiss obliterates every thought, her mind locked on the present. Her only desire is to touch him, to move her hands over his broad shoulders, to trace along his muscled back. The soft caress of their connected lips becomes more firm, the quickening of his breath matching her own.

Their first kiss marks only the beginning; the promise of more to come.

It's her way of finally saying 'yes.'

* * *

As the evening progresses, Mikasa struggles with the realization that her inaction is caused by internal conflict.

Moments before, Eren had casually swung by the cabana with the intention of asking Annie to join him on the dancefloor for the next wave of slow songs.

Before getting up, Annie had looked back at Mikasa with a troubled expression, plagued with misgivings about leaving her alone.

Mikasa's only response was an insistent, "Don't worry about me. Go on… I'll be fine."

 _Typical_. Annie acknowledges that Mikasa has always been the one to take care of everybody else first, putting her own needs second. She's selfless, and while that's hardly a negative quality, it often makes it hard to console the girl when she needs it most.

But Mikasa's also strong-willed and level-headed. One way or another, she manages to keep herself together.

It's who she is.

Having made some semblance of peace with that, Annie heads out with Eren, leaving Mikasa alone at last.

The solitude gives her time to reflect on the summer she'll have to put behind her. She's learned plenty of valuable things over the past three months, most of them surprisingly about herself.

She has a gift and, as someone once told her, it would be wasteful to squander it.

She can already hear Levi, pressing the subject of her raw talent and potential in his usual commanding but compassionate tone.

It's then that she realizes she needed someone to tell her that. Tell her to fight conformity. To pursue her own autonomy. To disregard what everyone else thinks. The discussion goes beyond the art of photography or her choice of career- it applies to every aspect of her life, especially as she makes the painstaking transition to adulthood.

Levi had been more than just her employer.

He was her light.

His presence had been fleeting, but the impression he'd left on her will always remain.

Smoothing over the fabric of her dress, Mikasa resumes the absentminded wandering of every memory she has of him. Every interaction, every counsel, every photo excursion, few in number as they were, and…

The lantern festival.

_If only we had more time…_

The sound of his voice resonates louder and louder in her head, every interval harder to distinguish from reality than the next.

Until it dawns on her.

It  _is_  real. Her name. Someone has just said her name.

"Mikasa…"

 _His voice_ , she thinks.  _It can't be…_

Mikasa stands up and turns to face its source.

She freezes. She knows she's not dreaming.

"Levi," she half-whispers in disbelief. "You… you're here."

Levi paces a few steps forward, situated at arm's length from her.

"Thought I'd stop by," he says in midstride. His gaze falls to her dress, then back to her steel grey eyes. "You look nice, by the way."

Mikasa finds herself blindsided, unable to think of a single thing to say. She could've sworn she had prepared herself for a moment like this, but she's too awestruck to let anything out.

Her muddled thoughts take her back to day one, when they first met under the canopy of the juice bar, not far from where they stand now.

Mikasa bites her bottom lip, aching to reach for him. "Looks like this ends where it all began," she says with a sigh.

Levi's jaw clenches. "It doesn't have to."

Mikasa can feel her entire face flush in a heated mess, the intensity at par with being lit on fire.

The urgency to pour out her feelings is hard to repress, the sum of everything she's wanted to tell him hanging off the tip of her tongue in anticipation.

She comes close to relieving herself of the wall she'd put up. Close to disregarding her inhibitions.

"Levi… I…"

Closer. Closer…

But Levi spares her.

"I know," he tells her, his tone deeply sincere.

He spares her because he's known for a while.

But she still has her whole life ahead of her.

Silence intervenes, the distance between them feeling like miles and miles of things left unsaid. The slow music Mikasa had tuned out when he'd arrived comes drifting back to her, mellifluous and endearing.

She wants him to hold her again. To feel his skin against hers.

Mikasa motions toward the dancefloor. A last request.

"Will you dance with me, Levi?" she asks.

Levi gives her a rare smile. A tender, somber smile. It's a sight Mikasa will never forget for as long as she lives, and now she only wishes she had a camera.

He offers her his hand in response, waiting on her to take it.

Mikasa accepts the gesture, easing her hand with his before interlocking their fingers together.

It's not long before she's held in his arms again, swaying to the alluring tempo of a dreary song, the dancefloor beneath the slow and steady movements of their feet.

They're cheek to cheek, intimately close.

Mikasa closes her eyes, lost in the euphoric feeling of his touch.

This is everything.

* * *

Goodbyes are always hard.

There's a melancholic beauty in the act itself, as well as the opportunity to learn how to let go of the things one loves most.

But they may also provide closure, hope even.

For the close-knit group gathered in a circle inside a charming little cabana, the goodbyes allow for the outpouring of fond memories, heartfelt promises, and hope for the future.

A genuine heart to heart exchange.

Amid the lively conversation between longtime friends, Mikasa is able to put one mystery to bed; one that had seemed trivial at first but now resonates deeply with her to lengths of unfathomable depths.

"I know who reserved this lovely space for us," she mumbles. "I should have known from the start."

"Your aunt?" Pieck's obliviousness often undermines her deduction skills.

Ymir places a hand on Mikasa's shoulder, empathetic. "The moment you and Levi waltzed onto the dancefloor, we pretty much figured it out, too."

"But… why?" Mikasa feels her heart ache again.

_Not everything can be that simple… can it?_

"Because," Annie chimes in, "you deserve to be treated like the jewel you are."

Mikasa warms at that, peering over at Annie with admiration sparkling in her eyes. She rests her head on the blonde's shoulder, content. "Thanks, I guess."

"Where is 'Prince Charming' anyway?" Ymir quips, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back into the comfy lounge chair.

"He called it a night a little after nine," Mikasa replies. "He's catching an early flight to Sina City in the morning."

"You two set a date for the wedding before he left?" Ymir tuts, chuckling to herself. "The man's not getting any younger."

Mikasa huffs in disapproval. Nevertheless, she lets a small laugh slip. "I'm really gonna miss your feistiness, Ymir," she says. "Not sure how I'll survive without your twisted sense of humor."

"We'll group chat on skype over the weekends like we usually do," Ymir offers nonchalantly. "That way you guys won't miss me too much."

"And we'll get together for the holidays over break!" Pieck reminds them. "Maybe you can volunteer with me for the town's tree-lighting ceremony in December."

Annie nods in consideration. "I don't see why not," she says. "Maybe we can get the boys in on it, too."

"That's a great idea," Pieck enthuses, nudging Ymir. "Bertolt's as tall as a tree anyway so that cuts out the need for a ladder."

"You can climb on his shoulders and put the star on top," Mikasa adds playfully.

Ymir rolls her eyes, envisioning a catastrophic rendition of the suggestion. "You guys are thinking a little too far ahead for me. Before Christmas we have Thanksgiving and Halloween."

"All the department stores seem to forget that," Annie mutters cynically.

"Anyway," Ymir continues, "it's still technically summer, so can you please just let me hang on to what's left of it? I mean, look at this gorgeous tan! How am I supposed to maintain this sexy glow in the dark, depressing, cloudy months to come?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Pieck sighs, examining the pale hue of her skin.

"Truth be told," Ymir presses on in despondent fashion, "that's the least of my worries. I'm just… I'm gonna miss the hell out of my family. My dog. The beach. Even the guys and all their stupid shit."

Expelling a shaky sigh, Ymir concludes with the final twist of the knife.

"And… I'm gonna miss you all like crazy."

Mikasa frowns, her heart shattered. Annie breathes out her bitterness, but it lingers in her thoughts. Pieck suppresses the tears welling up, coming to terms with the inevitable.

Ymir looks them all over in silence, then extends both hands toward each girl sitting next to her. They hold hands for a brief period of reflection, creating a small ring inside the cabana.

Goodbyes are always hard.

But Goodbyes don't mean forever.

"No matter what life throws at us," Ymir vows, "No matter the distance put between us. We'll always remain as we are."

Annie concurs wholeheartedly. " _Hell_  yeah. You're all stuck with me for life. You can count on it."

Mikasa eases into her revelation. "I'm in this for the long haul," she says gently. "There's honestly no place I'd rather be."

Pieck tightens her grip on Annie and Ymir's hands respectively, spirits lifted. "We're soulmates."

 

_Goodbye sweet, sweet summer…_

_Hello new beginnings…_

 

It takes a moment for them to realize they have company, the silhouette of a woman hovering by the cabana's entrance.

"Oh, auntie," Mikasa says, turning to address the older woman. "Sorry, I didn't see you there at first."

"It's all right," Kiyomi replies. "Just came to ask if you wanted to have a group photo taken."

Mikasa gasps. "That's right! I almost forgot…" She instinctually turns back to her friends. "We  _have_  to get a group shot together at the photo booth." Turns out, it's the last thing on her summer bucket list.

"Shouldn't we wait for the guys?" Pieck asks, just to be safe.

Mikasa quickly stands up, readjusting the short sleeves of her dress. "They're still at the water balloon toss," she says, unconcerned. "We can get a shot with them before we all take off for the night… but we  _definitely_  need one with just the four of us."

"I'm in," Annie nods.

"Fair enough," Pieck relents, following behind.

On route to the photo booth, Ymir brings up a subject of utmost importance.

"So what are our plans for  _after_  the party?" she inquires.

"We could have a bonfire at my place," Pieck proposes, sloppy smores instantly coming to mind.

Annie on the other hand raises a brow at Ymir. "I thought you and Hoover were going to have some 'alone time'?"

Mikasa chuckles. "'One last hoorah', are the words you used, I believe."

Ymir disregards their taunts with a casual roll of her eyes. "Change of plans, guys. And I'll have you know…" She pauses to clear her throat. "I'm taking things slow with him. I want to take things  _seriously_ , you feel me?"

Annie and Mikasa commend the freckled lifeguard for her commitment to personal growth.

"In that case," Annie says, "I'm all for the bonfire idea."

"I volunteer to make a quick graham-cracker-slash-marshmallow-run to the store," Mikasa pledges.

"Nonsense," Pieck chuckles. "We'll all go together."

Upon finalizing their decision, they enter the photo booth, taking their places accordingly. After trying out a series of poses, they ultimately settle on the classic 'arms slung over one another's shoulders' position, huddling close. The booth's photographer instructs them to hold their postures, waiting for the right moment to take the shot.

"Smile, ladies," he tells them, commencing a countdown from three.

Their smiles are wide. Their positions are held.

They're ready.

"Three…"

 

_Oh, when I look back now_

_That summer seemed to last forever_

 

"Two…"

 

_And if I had the choice_

_Yeah I'd always wanna be there_

 

"One."

 

_Those were the best days of my life_

 

And the camera flashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Shout out to lunarcrystals on tumblr for planting the little idea in my head that Kiyomi could be Mika's long lost auntie!!
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading, peeps! :)


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